


Jared and the Undead Bartender

by tsukinobara



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bartenders, Boston, Contemporary AU, M/M, Road Trips, Vampires, by which i mean very little angst and biting, non-traditional vamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinobara/pseuds/tsukinobara
Summary: Jared has only been in Boston a few months when he walks into a bar called Abigail's and meets Jensen, the bartender. Jensen likes crossword puzzles, old movies, and superhot chile peppers, and they become friends. Jared thinks a road trip to New Mexico to find the world's hottest peppers would be a great idea, but Jensen has a secret – he was born in colonial Boston, he's over 260 years old, and he's a vampire.They go to New Mexico anyway, encountering fellow travelers and ghostly horses and the highway at night, and learning more about each other. It turns out that crossing the country in a camper with your best friend is a great way to fall in love, even if one of you is undead. Who knew?





	Jared and the Undead Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for superhot chile peppers, crossword puzzles, bits of history, and traces of Chad. It's all lies and falsehoods but I tried to make the history accurate, at least.
> 
> cassiopeia7 made [the really cute art](https://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/622439.html).

The bar is called Abigail's and the hours, as posted on the door, are “Sunset to sunrise”. The place looks dim and quiet and Jared could use a beer, so he goes in.

His week started off well but he's spent the days since trying to put out fires and deal with the home office's utter inability to understand that firm-wide policies and changes aren't going to work for everyone, and that outsourcing some of its IT is never going to be a good idea. His roommate is never around during the week, the fridge is half-empty, and his place is a long walk from the T station. He isn't looking forward to going back to his apartment.

Abigail's is indeed dim and quiet. The bar runs along the right side of the space, with a couple of tables by the front windows, booths along the left wall, and more tables in back. There's something vaguely bluesy playing on the stereo. Jared takes a seat at the bar, two stools down from a guy in a suit who's chatting with the bartender.

Jared looks at the taps, thinking. They're all local brews – Harpoon, Night Shift, Jack's Abby, the ubiquitous Sam Adams. Every time he walks into a bar he's reminded how far from home he really is. Not just San Antonio, where he grew up, but Durham, where he lived before he moved to Boston. He misses both places.

He doesn't hate Boston, exactly, although it's only February and he's already tired of the winter, and he doesn't hate his job, exactly, although he'd like it if just once, for just one week, everything worked like it was supposed to. He'd call Chad for sympathy, but Chad would just tell him to suck it up and wait until spring, when all those cute Boston boys shed their heavy winter coats and hats and emerge bright-eyed and tousle-haired into the sunlight. Because 99.44% of the time, Chad's answer to all of life's problems is “You just need to get laid”.

The other 0.56% of the time, his answer is “Maybe you need a change of scenery.” Which is how Jared got here in the first place.

“I'm telling you,” the guy in the suit is saying to the bartender, “it's 'wadi'.” Jared notices that there's a folded newspaper on the bar, showing what looks like the crossword puzzle.

“Then 'man of fables' starts with A,” the bartender says. He doesn't sound convinced.

“Aesop,” Jared says. They both look at him.

The bartender makes an annoyed noise and fills in some of the crossword boxes. “I should've known that. Thanks. What's your pleasure, or do you need some time?”

One of the taps says “Downeast”. Jared has been in Boston long enough to be able to tell which taps are local beer and which are local cider. Sure, why not.

“I'll have a cider,” Jared says. The guy in the suit leans forward and turns the crossword so he can see it while the bartender pours Jared's cider.

“''Noticed,' four letters, starts with S,” the guy in the suit says, partly to himself and partly to Jared. “Not 'saw'.”

“'Seen'?”

The guy scribbles.

“Stop doing my crossword,” the bartender tells him, grabbing the newspaper.

“I'm just trying to help.”

“Do you think I need help?”

“Everyone needs help.” The guy turns to Jared, surprising him by asking “What do you need help with?”

“Uh,” Jared says, taken aback. Total strangers don't normally ask you that kind of thing in bars, especially not up here. Not that New Englanders are unfriendly, necessarily, but they keep to themselves a lot more than folks from farther south.

“Don't pester the customers,” the bartender says mildly. He's a nice-looking guy – short brown hair, dark red henley, broad shoulders. “How's the cider?” he asks Jared. “I've been having trouble with that tap.”

“It's fine. It's not too dry.”

The bartender nods, satisfied. “It's not supposed to be. Don't let Misha bother you.” He nods at the guy in the suit, who is apparently called Misha.

“Psh,” Misha says dismissively. “It's my purpose in life to pester. It's my _job_.”

“What do you do?” Jared asks.

“Social media and PR for non-profits, focusing on charitable organizations. I'm trying to get my own charity off the ground. What do you know about non-profits?” But before Jared can answer, Misha gives the bartender a pointed look and says “I'm not _pestering_ , I'm _networking_.”

“Do you feel pestered?” the bartender asks Jared.

“Not really.” Jared shrugs. “I'm in IT,” he tells Misha. “I work for a big accounting firm. We're for-profit.”

“Are you looking for a side hustle?”

“Misha,” the bartender says. He glances up from his crossword, then shoots a look at Jared's glass. It's still half-full.

“I'm not Uber,” Misha goes on, undeterred. “You can trust me. I might need an IT guy, but the job is still volunteer-only.”

“What would I be doing?” Jared asks, out of curiosity.

“I don't know yet. Are you on LinkedIn?”

“Yeah. Wait, I have, uh, shit.” He pulls his backpack up from the floor and rummages around in the front pocket. He has a pile of business cards somewhere. He finally manages to produce one and hands it over. Misha gives it a thorough examination before putting it in his pants pocket.

“Misha Collins,” he says, holding out his hand. Jared shakes it. “Pleased to meet you. You're not looking for a new job, are you? Vicky's got a friend,” he says to the bartender.

“Vicky's got a lot of friends,” the bartender mutters.

“My wife,” Misha tells Jared.

“I just started three months ago,” Jared says. “I can't quit now.”

Misha nods in understanding. “You should wait a year. That's what they tell me.” He looks at his watch, slides off his stool, and puts on his coat. “If you have any interest in non-profit start-ups, give me a call.” He digs a business card of his own out of a coat pocket and gives it to Jared.

“'Random Acts'?” Jared says.

“Commit random acts of kindness and senseless beauty. That's my charity. Well, it will be when I get it off the ground. I've got a great business plan, I just need to raise some money.”

“Doesn't Vicky have any lawyer friends?” the bartender asks. “So you don't have to keep bugging my customers?”

“He's not bugging me,” Jared says. It never occurred to him to look for volunteer opportunities. It's as good a way as any to meet people and it might be good for his soul to use his spare time helping folks in need.

“See?” Misha says to the bartender. “I'm a delight to be around.” He grins. “Nice to meet you. Jensen, it's been a pleasure, as always.” He waves to Jared and the bartender – whose name seems to be Jensen, good to know – and heads out.

Jared finishes his cider.

“Would you like another?” the bartender – Jensen – asks. “Do you need a menu?” He pulls one out from under the bar and hands it to Jared, then glances back at his crossword. “Hopkins – oh, I know that one.” He fills something in.

Jared looks over the menu. He could eat.

“Sorry about Misha,” Jensen goes on. “He's a good guy and he never met a stranger, but he can go from friendly to pushy without realizing it.”

“I didn't mind,” Jared says. “I don't know a lot of people.”

“Did you just move here for work?”

“Yeah. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Can I get another cider? And a plate of nachos?”

“Sure thing.”

Jensen pours a fresh cider and disappears, presumably into the kitchen. Jared drinks his cider and tries not to think about anything in particular. Now that Misha has left, Jared's the only person in the bar, aside from the bartender. It makes the place feel oddly private, as if Jared has rented out the entire bar, or Jensen has opened it up just for him. It's a pleasant, cozy feeling.

The nachos are covered in cheese and guacamole and sour cream, with sliced jalapenos and black beans buried inside the pile of chips. Jensen puts his crossword aside, and because the cider is making him chatty and he has an attentive audience who wants to know, Jared explains why he moved to Boston (he was going to move in with his boyfriend at the time but the boyfriend broke up with him because he'd met someone else), why he moved here specifically (he knew someone who knew someone who needed a tech person), what he doesn't like about his job (people are careless and stupid, and the home office is hard to deal with at the best of times), what he does (the money's good and the people are pretty nice), and that he needs to make friends beyond his roommate.

“I like the people at work,” he finishes, “but it's hard to make friends with them outside the office. They've already got their own things going on.”

“You can always come back and talk to me,” Jensen says. “That's what I'm here for.”

“I guess I needed to talk to someone. How do I meet people? Maybe I should just start dating again.”

Jensen nods sagely. “Can't hurt. At least you know a good bar to bring them to.” He gestures to the rest of the space, at the booths and tables in the back, the lights hanging low over the tables, the old photos and posters on the brick walls. There are little white Christmas lights strung behind the bar. Abigail's does seem like it might be a nice place to take your date, if you want peace and quiet and don't care that it isn't the fanciest food. The booths are cozy and it feels like a neighborhood watering hole, the kind of place the locals patronize for a drink and a burger.

For date places, Jared could do worse. Now he just needs to meet someone he wants to go out with, who wants to go out with him.

“Are you really open until sunrise?” he asks.

“No, I have to close at two like everyone else,” Jensen says. “I just thought it would be fun to have on the sign, since I really don't open until sunset.”

“Thanks for the conversation.” Jared reaches for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

He leaves a good tip, and thinks about how he might start meeting people as he rides the train home.

* * *

Jared would never have guessed that walking into a random bar after a bad day would lead him to an actual friend, his first (and to be fair, only) good friend in Boston, but it has. Over the course of a couple of months, he learns that Jensen actually owns the bar and doesn't just pour drinks, that he's originally from Boston but lived in Dallas for a while, that he knows a lot about beer even though he doesn't really drink it (“Who owns a bar but doesn't drink beer?” Jared demanded, incredulous, and Jensen answered “You'd be surprised”), that the bar's namesake Abigail was his dog years and years ago, that he subscribes to the Boston _Globe_ for the crossword, that he watches a lot of movies, and that he loves hot peppers, the hotter the better.

And Jensen, in turn, learns that Jared grew up in San Antonio, that he'd been in Durham almost four years before he came to Boston, that he couldn't bring himself to adopt a dog after his last two died (“Abigail's probably tormenting them in the great dog park in the sky,” Jensen said), that his parents' first date was to see _The Return of the Jedi_ , that he honored that fact by seeing the last three Star Wars movies on opening night, and that he has the worst sweet tooth of anyone he's ever met.

Sometimes he can't believe how he made his first real Boston friend. Sometimes he can't believe he even has a real Boston friend.

He's been on several dates, most of them guys he met on Match.com or Tinder, plus a weird linguist his roommate set him up with. If it's his choice, he brings them to Abigail's for the first date, because he's comfortable there and so he can get Jensen's opinion. Jensen has only disliked one of them, a guy named Ty with whom Jared only went out once.

Misha has started to make real progress on getting his own charity off the ground, and has twice asked Jared for tech advice. Jared still isn't ready to look for another job, although occasionally he thinks it would be nice to work somewhere he can be social with his colleagues after work hours, not just during. He doesn't want to meet anyone through the gym – he just wants to do his workout and leave – but it might be nice to join a running club, now that the weather is getting more conducive to running outside. But since he's got a good friend now, he doesn't feel pressured to find more.

“You need more friends than me,” Jensen tells him repeatedly, and Jared just counters with the fact that Jensen only seems to have two friends himself.

Jared now stops at Abigail's on his way home at least three times a week. If it's not busy, and it usually isn't when he gets there, he'll talk to Jensen, help with the crossword puzzle, chat with Misha if he's there too. Sometimes if it's really quiet Jensen will feed him on the house. He can't have a drink every time, but Jensen doesn't care if he just gets a soda and takes up a bar stool for forty minutes.

Chad says it's weird. Jared doesn't care.

“I'm going to hire some help,” Jensen tells him one night. It might actually be spring by now and the days are getting longer and longer, to the point that the bar had just opened when Jared came by.

“You mean behind the bar?” Jared asks.

“In the bar, in the kitchen. Someone to take over if I want a few hours off.”

“Are you going on vacation?” They've well established by now that Jensen doesn't go on vacation, simply because there's no one else to watch the bar and he doesn't want to close it for any length of time. “You can finally go to a movie with me!”

Jensen grins. Jared has realized that Chad might be right, that it's weird to have a bartender friend and only see them for an hour or so after work, or for a few hours on weekends, when they're tending bar and aren't too busy. Going out for a drink somewhere else is silly, but coffee would be good, or brunch, or whatever it is friends do with each other when there are just two of them, but Jensen keeps saying no to every one of Jared's suggestions. Jared has tried to capitalize on the fact that Jensen likes movies, and Jared doesn't like seeing them by himself, but Jensen keeps saying no to that too.

“Any luck finding someone?” Jared asks.

“There's a girl who lives in the building who has some experience tending bar. She's interested. We just need to set a time to meet.”

“That's good news.” Jared glances around. There's one person sitting at a booth but the place is empty otherwise. It's never very full during the week, although Jared has seen it more crowded than this. He doesn't like to come when it's too busy, because he and Jensen can't really socialize, but that means that when he's here, he always wonders how the place stays in business.

“I think so. She's an artist and freelance graphic designer, so she's very flexible.” He glances at Jared's glass, which was full of Coke but is now empty. “You want another?”

It's another week and a half before the freelance graphic designer, whose name is Danneel, is officially hired and run through basic training. She seems to know what she's doing, and most importantly, her presence means Jared and Jensen can now spend time together away from the bar.

And that means Jensen asking Jared what he's doing Thursday night, and suggesting a movie.

“I don't want to leave,” he says, “just in case there's a problem, but we can watch one in my apartment.”

(“His apartment, huh?” Chad says, when Jared reports on this tiny bit of platonic success. Jared can hear the suggestiveness in Chad's voice and protests that it's not like that, they really are just friends. Besides, he hasn't gotten any indication of which way Jensen swings, if he swings at all.)

Jensen lives upstairs from Abigail's. On Thursday Jared shows up at the bar with two packs of microwave popcorn, and feels very special when Jensen leads him out the back door, up the back stairs, and into his apartment. It's not very big, and Jensen seems to like his apartment at a cooler temperature than his bar, but like Abigail's it's cozy and comfortable and the couch is big enough for three.

Jensen shows Jared around – living space, kitchen space, bathroom, nod at the bedroom door. There are some old photos of what Jared assumes is Boston decorating the living/dining room, along with a drawing of the Alamo, of all things, and a sepia-tone photo that looks like someplace out west. Jensen has also hung a drawing of a fish, a print showing different kinds of peppers, and an oil painting of himself in Victorian-looking clothes, with a medium-sized dog of indeterminate parentage sitting next to him. That must be Abigail. The bookshelves are crowded with books, a mix of fiction, vampire books, folktales, pop science, the odd biography, and titles that tell Jared nothing of their contents. There's a string of pepper-shaped Christmas lights strung around the tiny window in the kitchen. There is also, to Jared's surprise, an actual pepper plant under a couple of grow lights. It's maybe three feet high, branching in all directions, and it even has a couple of peppers – round wrinkly ones, with spike-like tails.

“What are these?” Jared asks.

“Carolina reapers,” Jensen says. “The hottest pepper known to man.”

“North or South Carolina? I never heard of them.”

“I love them, but fair warning – they'll burn your mouth out and there's a chance you might end up in the hospital.”

“I'll pass.” Jared puts his popcorn on the counter. The kitchen is unsurprisingly small, but clean and uncluttered.

“You have to order your own dinner,” Jensen says, following him in. “I apologize for not being able to feed you.”

“Nah, that's okay. I figured we'd get pizza or something. Man cannot live on popcorn alone.”

“Well, maybe popcorn and beer.” Jensen grins. “I got a six-pack of Jack's Abby. I know you like the House Lager.” He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle, pops the top off on the edge of the counter, and hands it to Jared. Jared takes a swig. He's had it from the tap downstairs, but everything tastes different in bottles.

He orders from an Indian restaurant on GrubHub and while he waits for it to be delivered he gets Jensen to explain where the old photos were taken. Except for the sepia-tone one that turns out to be nineteenth-century Dallas, they are, as Jared guessed, all Boston, most of them at least seventy years old.

“That one's Scollay Square,” Jensen says, pointing to a small photo of tightly-packed buildings. “Before the city demolished everything to build City Hall.”

“You don't have any recent pictures?”

“There's one of Fenway in the bathroom.” 

“I take it you're a Red Sox fan.” Baseball isn't really Jared's game – he bitches about them a lot but he'll always be a Cowboys fan – but he's not going to judge someone for their love of the sport.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jensen grins. “It's in the blood. I've been to a couple of night games. They're fun. We should go sometime.”

“You sure you can leave the bar for that long?” Jared grins back, teasing, and Jensen rolls his eyes.

“You're very funny. Come on, let's find a movie.”

They settle on a classic – _Rear Window_ , which has always seemed to Jared like the perfect movie for city dwellers. Jensen considerately waits for Jared's food to arrive, and then offers him an assortment of hot sauces, in case the restaurant didn't make his dinner spicy enough. Jared likes a little heat in his food, but something labeled “Melt-Your-Lips-Off Hot Sauce” is probably hotter than he wants. He likes his lips unmelted, thank you.

They watch in silence, more or less – Jared likes to comment on movies as he's watching them, and while Jensen doesn't seem to mind, he also doesn't really join in – neither of them realizing until the movie's over that they forgot the popcorn.

“Do you have time for another?” Jensen asks. “I don't want to put your popcorn to waste.”

“I should probably head home,” Jared says. “Keep it for next time.”

The next movie night is a Tuesday a couple of weeks later. Jared orders pizza and they watch _Near Dark_ , a vampire movie from the 80s that he's never heard of.

“I'm not up on my vampire movies,” he admits, when Jensen expresses surprise that he doesn't know this one.

“Then it's a good thing you met me. If there's a vampire movie I haven't seen, it isn't worth seeing.”

“Should I block off a day for a marathon?”

Jared means it as a joke, but Jensen considers it seriously.

“Sure,” he says eventually. “Maybe over a weekend.”

 _It's a good excuse to sleep over_ , Chad suggests in Jared's head. Jared shakes it off but it wouldn't be the worst idea Chad's ever had.

“It's a deal,” he says. “It's too bad I didn't know you last Halloween.”

“Maybe this year.”

Jared goes home full of pizza and the impulse to Google vampire movies, to make a list of the ones he hasn't seen that sound interesting.

He really likes sitting in Jensen's apartment, watching movies, talking about the bar business or the IT business or historical Boston or San Antonio or Misha or Chad. He learns that Jensen used to be a baker, before he opened Abigail's.

“Why did you quit?” Jared asks, but Jensen just shrugs.

“Shit happened. Life. Things. You know. Running a bar was better for me.”

“You don't still bake, do you? I mean, not up here, I know you don't cook, but for the bar.” Jared has poked around in Jensen's kitchen once or twice, looking for something to doctor his takeout with, and has found nothing but bottles of hot sauce, the occasional dried pepper, and containers of kimchi so pungently vinegary that it makes his eyes water, and so drowning in spice and heat that he can feel his nose hairs singe when he smells it. Jensen keeps some bottles of beer and soda in the fridge for him, but nothing that looks like it could turn into bread.

“Sometimes I get the urge,” Jensen says. “I'll put the ingredients together downstairs and bring everything up here so I can bake in my own kitchen. I'll make you a loaf one day.”

Jared feels very close to Jensen, closer than anyone besides Chad, and when he bothers to think about it he's grateful for the night he walked into Abigail's. His life has changed a little, for the better.

“Befriending you was good for him,” Misha tells Jared one night. “I can see a difference.”

“You mean besides the fact that I'm not behind the bar 24/7?” Jensen asks, putting a tuna melt and potato chips on the counter. “Or that I don't need your help with the crossword all the time?”

“Both.” Misha squirts ketchup on his sandwich. Jensen makes a face. Misha squirts ketchup on his potato chips. Jared makes a face. “I like ketchup.”

Vicky comes back from the bathroom and sits on Misha's other side. She reaches over and takes a couple of chips, scrapes the ketchup off them, and eats them.

“Would you like more chips with your ketchup?” she asks sweetly. Misha grabs the ketchup bottle and aims it at her.

“Hey!” Jensen protests. “No condiment fights in my bar!”

“You're no fun,” Misha sighs. “Maybe you haven't changed him after all,” he says to Jared.

It's a Saturday night and the bar is filling up. Danneel has come down to help out, and the new spring weather must have people excited, because they keep her and Jensen hopping. Jared and Misha and Vicky eat and drink and order dessert and talk to each other and Jensen and, occasionally, their fellow bar patrons. A cute brunette is convinced she knows Jared from somewhere, and spends half an hour trying to figure out how she knows him. She's pretty and funny and isn't coming on to him, just insistent that they've met before, and because he's pleasantly drunk and she's fun to talk to, Jared doesn't mind.

One of her friends eventually comes to get her, and she leaves with “I'll remember tonight when I'm brushing my teeth!” Jensen chuckles from the other side of the bar.

“You made a friend,” he says, pouring a beer for someone who has taken the opportunity to lean into the girl's vacated space and order something. “I'm so proud.”

“Jerk,” Jared says affectionately, and Jensen smiles.

Seeing that Jared is now free, Misha starts in on his charity and his funding and the grants he's applying for, and segues almost seamlessly into a spiel about a colleague in non-profits who's got a good short-term IT job opening up soon.

“I don't hate my job enough to quit,” Jared says. “Especially not for short-term contract work.”

Misha snorts. “I respect that but I know you're not happy.”

Jared points at Jensen, who has moved down the bar and doesn't see. “Is he talking about me?”

“Yes,” Vicky says around Misha. Misha elbows her. “Both of them are.”

“He's only interested in your emotional welfare,” Misha says loftily. Vicky snickers. “He wants you to be happy,” Misha goes on, ignoring her. “You want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Jared says, realizing as he says it that he is. And not just right now, but overall. It's amazing what having a good friend in your life can do.

“All the time?”

“No one's happy all the time, Misha,” Vicky says.

“They can be, Victoria.” He takes both of Jared's hands. “Working for the good of other people, instead of for the good of the company's bottom line, is very rewarding. The money isn't great, but the satisfaction is. Think about it.”

“Maybe if it was full-time, with benefits.” There are worse industries to work for than the non-profit sector. But Jared isn't ready to quit his job.

“We'll have a Memorial Day party. You'll come. I'll introduce you to people. Bring Jensen. He's never been to any of our parties and it's starting to hurt my feelings.” Misha makes an exaggerated sad face. “I think he'll make an exception for you.”

“Memorial Day isn't for a month.”

“We plan early,” Vicky says. “We'll send you a real invitation when it's time.”

Jared finishes his drink and thinks about it. The conversation moves on to food, because apparently mentioning their Memorial Day party means Misha now has to talk out what he and Vicky should serve. Jared orders a piece of pie and lets Danneel test a cocktail on him.

Misha and Vicky go home a little before one, and the next time Jared looks at his watch, it's because Jensen is announcing last call and Jared has no idea what that means. He has to stare at the watch face for a full minute, and even then the position of the hands makes no sense to him. Jensen slides down the bar and Jared turns his wrist so Jensen can tell him the time.

“It's closing time,” Jensen says. He squints. “You're hammered.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, suddenly feeling completely, thoroughly exhausted. He wants to put his head down on the bar and take a nap. “I should go home.” He spins slowly around on the stool, starts to stand, feels the floor tilt under him, and sits again. “Maybe I should wait.”

“Hang on.” Jensen comes around the bar, takes Jared's arm, and gently pulls him to his feet. “I can't pour you into a cab. I don't trust you'll still be conscious when you get home. You can sleep it off in my place.”

Jared wants to protest, but at the same time, he knows Jensen's apartment, he's comfortable in Jensen's apartment, and most importantly, Jensen's apartment is upstairs. Jared can feel himself passing out on the back stairs, and makes a good effort to stay upright and conscious until he's been guided into the bathroom and then to Jensen's bedroom, where he can collapse on the bed. He can't even feel Jensen take off his shoes.

He's confused when he finally comes to, because he's in a strange room, in a strange bed, the place is dark, and he's so hungover he thinks he might still have a buzz. He stumbles out of bed, walks into the wall and then the doorframe, fumbles around until he finds the bathroom, and takes a leak with the door still open. By now he's awake enough to remember where he is, and because it seems rude to just leave, he goes back to bed. Besides, he's in no shape to go home.

When he wakes up again, it's night again, the curtains are open, the lights of the city are shining through the window, and he's still hungover. He stretches, sits, throws his legs over the edge of the bed, and gets up. He thinks he can hear music coming from somewhere, and makes his way through the apartment to the kitchen, where Jensen is kneading dough on the tiny table and listening to the music coming out of a speaker attached to his phone.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully. “How do you feel?”

“Hungover,” Jared says. He yawns. “You brought me upstairs last night, didn't you?”

“I couldn't let you go home in the state you were in. Danny's watching the bar,” he adds unnecessarily. If he's in his own kitchen, and it's clearly past sunset, of course someone else would be watching Abigail's.

“What are you doing?” Jared pulls the one chair away from the table and sits. The motion of Jensen's hands in the dough, back and forth and back and forth, is mesmerizing and nausea-inducing at the same time.

“Making bread. You want some coffee? Juice?” His lips quirk. “V-8 and a raw egg?”

The mere idea makes Jared's stomach turn over.

“Let me put this in a bowl and I'll get Danny to make you a hangover cure.” Jensen pulls the dough over itself, shapes it into a ball, puts it in a bowl, and covers it with a dishtowel. He sticks it in the oven and pats Jared on the head before going downstairs. Jared pours himself some water from the tap, swallows it without stopping, and goes back into the bedroom to find his shoes.

He has to turn on the light, revealing a small, tidy room with a queen-size bed and a dresser and a nightstand. He should make the bed. There's an old-fashioned alarm clock and a little portrait in an oval silver frame on the nightstand. Jared picks up the picture frame, curious. There are no pictures of people in Jensen's apartment, aside from the Victorian painting of himself and the dog, just places and peppers and the cod. The silver frame holds a small painting of a pretty woman in a scoop-neck dress with blonde hair piled on her head. The frame looks vintage, but the portrait looks even older, like an eighteenth-century miniature. Jared wonders who she is.

He puts his shoes on and goes back to the kitchen. There are strings of chile peppers draped around the cabinets that weren't there before. They're oddly faded, like the afterimage of peppers. Jared blinks and they vanish.

“What did I drink last night?” he mutters.

Jensen reappears less than a minute later, bearing toast and a glass of orange juice. He hands both to Jared. There's vodka in the orange juice and butter on the toast, and Jared finishes both while Jensen cleans up from his bread-making.

“I thought you didn't bake up here,” Jared says.

“What?” Jensen asks, wiping his hands and leaning against the counter.

“I remember you telling me about baking. You said you put it together downstairs.”

Jensen just stares at him, clearly confused, then his face clears and he says “No, I said I get the ingredients from the bar, but I do the actual baking up here. You know I don't keep anything in my own kitchen.” He grins and pats Jared's hand. “You need more sleep. Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I was really drunk, wasn't I. Why didn't you cut me off?”

“You were having a good time.” Jensen shrugs. “Besides, I knew if I had to, I could bring you up here. I slept on the couch, by the way.”

“You didn't have to, but thanks. I found my shoes. Who's the girl in the painting?”

“What girl?”

“In your room. There's a little portrait of a girl on your nightstand. It looks really old.”

“That's... her name was Joanna. She was my wife.” He rushes his answer, almost as if he's embarrassed, or it was a secret he didn't want to tell.

“You were married?” Jared can feel himself gaping. He can't even imagine Jensen with a girlfriend, never mind a wife.

“It was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it.” He turns his back to Jared and fusses with something on the counter.

“I'm sorry,” Jared says, instantly feeling bad. “I didn't know.” He gets up, puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I should really go home.”

Jensen pats Jared's hand and turns around. Jared lets his hand fall. “It's okay,” Jensen says. “You can crash here any time. Are you sure you're good? I should go downstairs, but you can stay here for a little while if you want.”

“No, I should go. I have stuff to do. Laundry, dishes, the usual.”

“Come back tomorrow and you can have some bread.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

He collects his jacket and follows Jensen back down to the bar, where Danneel is pouring a cider and someone at one of the tables is trying to get her attention. Jared leaves Jensen to deal with it and goes home.

He doesn't remember the disappearing peppers until he gets back to his apartment.

 _I saw disappearing chile peppers in your kitchen_ , he texts Jensen.

Jensen must be busy, because Jared doesn't see the reply until the next morning:

_???_

He must have imagined them. Hangover, not enough good sleep, whatever. Besides, why would Jensen have a string of dried peppers in his kitchen, when he already has a fruiting pepper plant?

 

* * *

Jared tries and fails to gets out of work early the Friday before Memorial Day. It's still light when he finally makes his escape, but he goes over to Abigail's anyway. After the second movie night Jensen suggested Jared just buzz the apartment from the sidewalk, rather than go through the bar, so Jared tries that. No answer. He knocks on the door of the bar. No answer to that either. He calls Jensen's cell.

“Hey,” Jensen says, answering after the third ring. “What's up?”

“I'm outside,” Jared says. “Are you home?”

“I'm baking. Give me a sec.” He hangs up. Jared stands on the sidewalk, staring at his phone, until he hears a click and a creak as the door to Abigail's opens a crack. He pushes it farther open and goes in.

The bar is dark but he can just see Jensen walking past the tables in back towards the kitchen. Jared shuts the door behind him, tries to lock it, and follows.

The kitchen is brightly lit but small, and there's a mound of dough sitting on a flour-dusted stainless-steel table.

“It has to rise a second time,” Jensen explains, “and then I can bake it. There's already one in the oven. Memorial Day weekend isn't big business but I figured I'd make sandwich bread anyway. You can take some to Misha and Vicky's party. Stand over there.” He gestures with his elbow and Jared moves out of the way. Jensen puts the pile of dough in a bowl, covers it with a towel, and sets a timer. He peeks in one of the ovens.

“Is this what you've been doing all day?” Jared asks. “Baking bread?”

“Not all day. I don't have to sit here and watch it rise, if that's what you're asking. I took inventory, did some ordering, cleaned my apartment. Watered the pepper. Oh, that reminds me, I have something to test on you. Come upstairs for a minute.”

They leave the bread, get a shot glass from behind the bar, and head up to Jensen's apartment, where he retrieves a bottle of Stoli with a bunch of pieces of hot peppers sitting in the bottom. There are little seeds floating in the liquor. Jensen pours Jared a shot, careful not to get any seeds in it, and hands him the glass. “Carolina reaper infused vodka. I need a guinea pig.”

“Um,” Jared says. He's been curious about the peppers ever since Jensen told him what they were called, but he also can't forget the detail that eating one might send him to the hospital.

“I just want to know if it's steeped enough.”

Jared sniffs the glass, then figures _What the hell_ and tosses it back.

At first all he can taste is vodka. It's not his drink so he doesn't know much about it, but he's pretty sure Stoli isn't the best quality stuff Jensen could have used. Then the hot pepper hits him. The burn is almost oily. It feels as if his lips and tongue and throat are blistering with heat.

“Milk,” he gasps. Jensen looks delighted. “It's not funny, I'm dying.”

“That means it's good. We have to go back downstairs.” He takes the bottle as Jared hustles them both down the stairs to the bar's kitchen, where Jensen obligingly pours a glass of milk. He's almost insufferably pleased with himself. He writes “Carolina reaper vodka” on the back of the bottle with a Sharpie and sticks it under the counter behind the bar.

“My bread should be almost ready, too,” he says. He grabs an oven mitt, opens the oven door, and pulls out a loaf pan. He puts his ear to the bread and knocks on the top of it. “Come smell,” he says to Jared, holding out the pan. Jared sniffs gingerly. After the vodka he's not sure he trusts Jensen with food. But the bread just smells like bread.

Jensen turns off the oven and puts the pan on the stovetop. He runs a knife around the inside and then turns the bread out onto the table. “This is how you know it's done,” he tells Jared, picking it up upside-down and knocking on the bottom. “Listen.” He holds out the loaf so Jared can listen to bread, and when he knocks on it again, it sounds vaguely hollow.

“Huh.”

“After a while you just know when it's ready, but I still had to listen to it from time to time. I learned to bake in a wood-fired oven, and the temperature wasn't always easy to control, so I had to keep checking the loaves.”

“Is that all you made? Just bread?”

“Bread, rolls, sometimes pies. But yeah, mostly bread. I was pretty good at it.”

“I can't believe you used to be a baker.”

Jensen shrugs. He finds a cooling rack for his new loaf and puts the now-empty pan on the counter next to the sink.

“We still have a couple of hours until the next loaf is ready to go in. I convinced Danny to work Memorial Day – you'll be surprised but I thought Misha's barbecue might be later, and maybe I'd go – wipe that smirk off your face, I said maybe.”

Jared can feel his lips pulling into a grin of their own accord. He knows he's the reason Jensen finally hired someone to help out at the bar so he can take some nights off, and Jared isn't at all surprised that Jensen is now admitting to thinking about maybe leaving the building to attend one of Misha and Vicky's parties. Misha said Jared was a good influence, and Misha's pretty observant.

“He said it would break up by seven, but I'd already asked Danny to cover,” Jensen is saying. “I have the whole weekend behind the bar, but come over after his thing on Monday and we'll hang out. I found some obscure European vampire movies, if you're feeling pretentious.”

“With subtitles?”

“With subtitles. You want something to eat? I may as well make you something, since we're in the kitchen already.”

Jared isn't that hungry, although he wants to try the bread. Jensen cuts him a couple of slices and spreads honey on them, before turning on some of the lights in the bar so they can sit at one of the tables in the back until either the rising bread is ready to go in the oven or it's time to open the bar, whichever comes first. Jared talks about his job and his family (his sister is working on her PhD, his brother and sister-in-law are working on a fixer-upper), Jensen talks about the bar and his experiments with mouth-melting pepper vodka. They talk about dogs and the weather and food and movies, and Jensen tells Jared the history of the swan boats in the Public Garden, and about the wooden cod hanging in the State House.

“It's the Sacred Cod,” he explains. “Because so much of the area's early economy was built around cod. I even have a book about it.”

“A book about cod?” Jared asks, dubious. How is a history of fish exciting? But that might explain the fish print in Jensen's living room.

“It's more interesting than it sounds. You can borrow it if you want.”

Jared feels like he and Jensen have known each other their entire lives. It's pretty much everything he could have wanted from a friendship, if he'd ever bothered to think out what exactly that was.

Eventually it's time to open the bar. Jared stays for dinner and a beer and helps Jensen with the crossword puzzle. They continue their conversations. Patrons dribble in. Jensen manages to sell a guy on the Carolina reaper vodka, and at Jared's suggestion brings over a glass of milk to go with the shot. The guy chokes, his eyes water, his friend pounds him on the back, and he eventually pronounces the vodka “Killer”.

“Literally,” Jared adds.

Jensen writes “Today's special: Wicked Awesome Carolina Reaper Vodka” on the blackboard behind the bar, where he usually writes the day's tap offerings. He adds “$5 until it's gone”, and the price and customer curiosity combine to empty the bottle before Jared goes home.

To be fair, Jared doesn't go home for a couple of hours, and Jensen is a good salesman.

Jared has been told – twice – not to bring anything to Misha and Vicky's Memorial Day party except maybe a nice bottle of wine, so he shows up at their apartment with what his roommate reassured him is a good bottle of white. Jared doesn't know much about wine, but his roommate is a connoisseur of American wines and can be counted on to give good advice. Vicky thanks Jared with a kiss on the cheek and takes the bottle away to stick in the fridge until they're ready to serve it.

Misha and Vicky live on the garden floor of a brownstone, which gives them access to the tiny back yard, which means the food is all outside with as many guests as will fit. Misha schmoozes from the grill. Vicky wanders around making sure everyone's plates and glasses are full. Misha leaves the grill in the care of one of his non-profit friends and follows suit. He practically corners Jared to talk about his plans, which now include several grants, a bare-bones web site, and an actual timetable.

“Sorry, I'm pestering you,” he finally says. “I'm very excited about it but I promised Vicky I wouldn't be a pest today.” He takes Jared's bottle, which is empty, and leads him over to the food and the big tin bucket of beer and soda on ice. Misha drops the bottle in the recycling bin under the table, offers Jared some cookies, and changes the subject. “I read about a chile farmer in New Mexico who's trying to breed the hottest peppers in existence, hotter even than Jensen's beloved reapers. I might suggest you mention it to him. Get him out of the city. If anyone can make that man take a vacation, it's you.”

Jared isn't so sure. He bites into one of the cookies, which crumbles into nothing all over his shirt. Misha stifles a laugh. Jared brushes himself clean and tries a second cookie, eating it carefully to make sure it feeds him and not his clothes.

“What makes you think I'll be able to get him to leave the bar for more than five hours?” he asks.

“He never even considered hiring some help until he met you. Trust me. I know these things.” Misha winks.

“Where in New Mexico?”

“South of Albuquerque. Her place is called Aurora Glory Farm. I'll send you the article. You can even tell him it was my idea.” He looks proud of himself for suggesting it, and talks as if Jared has already brought it up and Jensen has already said yes.

“Misha!” someone cries, walking over. She has a full glass of white wine in her hand and a silk daisy pinned in her blonde hair. “Are you matchmaking again?”

“Pestering. Have you met Jared? Jared, this is Brianna. We used to work together, until she gave up the life for the private sector.” He gives her a mock glare. She just laughs.

“My husband's a fundraiser for children's charities,” she explains. “Someone had to get a job that pays a living wage. It's not an evil place, Misha. I work for a placement agency,” she tells Jared. “I do outreach and deal with all the job fairs. We works mainly with women who have been out of the workforce for a while – some of them are newly divorced, or their partners have been out of work for a long time, or finances just took a dive – they need help finding decent employment. We run training programs and we have a division specifically to help low-income women. We're for-profit but we're not the Evil Empire.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I like it. I'm still helping people who need it, I just get paid better. I like being the breadwinner of the household.” Another sip. She looks Jared up and down. “What do you do? How do you know Misha?”

“He walked into a bar,” Misha says, grinning.

“I wanted a beer,” Jared tells Brianna. “He was there helping the bartender with the crossword puzzle.” He takes another cookie. “I'm the IT department for the local office of a big accounting firm. We're also not the Evil Empire.”

“He doesn't love it,” Misha adds.

“I don't hate it either. It's pretty good money. Sometimes it's frustrating, but what job isn't?” Misha is looking at him consideringly. “What?”

“Have you considered self-employment? I know, I know, you want to stay in your job for a year, but there's something to be said for being your own boss.”

Jared hasn't in fact considered that. Sometimes he wonders if he's disciplined enough to go freelance, or to set up his own business for himself. He's always had an impulsive streak – he applied for the job in Boston on impulse, he took it on impulse, he stopped at Abigail's on impulse, he even went out with his now-ex and planned to move in with the guy without really thinking through either thing. If he'd really thought through moving to Boston, if he'd put more time into weighing all the pros and cons as he knew them at the time, he might never have done it. He might still be in Durham, or he could have gone back to San Antonio, and he might have a job he can honestly say he enjoys, with friends and maybe even a new boyfriend.

But if he stayed in Durham he might still be running into his ex, because they shared a lot of friends and neither of them would have dropped all those friends after the breakup. Jared could have been invited to a fun Memorial Day barbecue that could have been ruined by the appearance of his ex and the boy his ex left him for.

And if he hadn't moved up here he wouldn't have met Jensen, or Misha.

There's no way to know which path would be right for him. He is where he is, and he thinks he's made the best of it. But maybe he can make it better.

“What's the pepper farm called again?” he asks Misha.

“Aurora Glory Farm. The peppers are called Socorro devils. Sounds ominous, doesn't it? The article claims that right now they're almost as hot as the reapers.”

An idea forms in Jared's head. He has some research to do. “I'll ask him if he's heard of them,” he tells Misha. “Send me the article.”

Misha looks pleased. Brianna tells Jared that it was nice to meet him, and wanders off towards a clump of people having what looks like a very spirited discussion.

The conversation changes to other things – current politics, social events, Jensen and the bar and other guests at the barbecue – and when the party starts to wind down, Jared thanks Misha and Vicky, tentatively accepts a very premature invitation to their July Fourth barbecue, complete with morning trek to the old State House to listen to the Declaration of Independence being read, and walks over to Abigail's. He's had a few beers and wants to walk off the buzz.

The sun hasn't even started to think about setting, but Jensen told him to come over whenever Misha and Vicky's party ended, and to ring the bell for his apartment, rather than trying to get into the bar. So Jared buzzes the apartment, waits for the click of the building door unlocking, and goes upstairs.

“How was it?” Jensen asks, as he opens the door. “Wait, don't step on that.” He points down, to where Jared has almost stepped on an envelope that someone must have pushed under the door. He bends over to rescue it from Jared's shoe.

“Who delivers mail that way?” Jared asks. Jensen ushers him in, shuts the door, and rips the envelope open. He pulls out a piece of notepaper and a check.

“It's rent.”

“Rent?”

“One of my tenants.” Jensen waves vaguely. “I own the building.”

“You own the building? How do you own the building?”

“How do most people own buildings? I bought it.” He stuffs the note and the check back into the envelope and puts that in a folder on his tiny desk. “Come in. Sit down. You want something? I got popcorn for the movies and found a cider I think you'll like. You didn't tell me how the party was.”

“Misha and Vicky both asked where you were and why you didn't come with me. When did you buy the building? _How_ did you buy the building?” Jared doesn't know anything about Boston real estate, but he can guess that an apartment building in Beacon Hill, with a shop or a bar or a restaurant on the first floor, would cost more money than a single person could conceivably have, unless that person was stupendously wealthy. Jensen has never given off any kind of affluent vibe.

“Good investments. You really want to talk about my financial situation?” Jared remembers his manners and that it's none of his business. He shakes his head. “Me either. The cider is Far from the Tree. It's in Salem. This one is pineapple and jalapeno.”

“Sounds good. I ate a lot at the party.”

“Which means you're not hungry now, but you will be in about two hours.” Jensen grins and vanishes into the kitchen to get the cider. Jared takes his shoes off, wiggles his toes, and puts his shoes back on. It's nice and cool in Jensen's apartment. It's always cool in Jensen's apartment, but today was kind of hot and Jared spent it all outside, so the temperature feels good. The shades are drawn, which he finds a little weird, but Jensen always has the shades pulled unless it's dark out, and Jared has never cared enough to ask why.

Jensen returns with a thermos and the cider, which is cold and sweet with a hint of jalapeno, and Jared tells him about the party and the people he met and the pepper farmer Misha mentioned.

“I read about a guy in Wales,” Jensen says, “but I didn't know there was anyone in the States trying to breed superhots.”

“Misha said she's south of Albuquerque. He was going to send me the article.”

“I'll bug him. If someone's growing something hotter than a reaper, I want to try it.”

This is encouraging, because the idea Jared had at the party is to visit New Mexico. Jensen will meet the pepper farmer, Jared will get out of town. They'll eat Mexican food hopefully made by actual Mexicans, they'll drive around the desert, they'll take a side trip to Tucson to see Chad. Jared just needs to plan it out before he mentions it, so he's prepared with responses in case Jensen says no.

“What do you think about a movie?” Jensen says, interrupting Jared's thoughts. “Iranian vampires this time. I thought it was better than a pretentious European film.”

“Sounds good. I'll make the popcorn.”

Jensen laughs. “You said you weren't hungry.”

“You don't have to be hungry to eat popcorn. What's in the thermos?”

“Carolina reaper vodka. I think this batch is stronger than the first one. Would you like to try it?” He holds out the thermos, grinning.

“Hell no.”

Jensen laughs.

The movie is a mashup of western, horror, and noir, with a skateboarding Iranian vampire and more style than substance. Jared likes that the vampire is a woman seeking revenge on men who've treated other women badly, but in general he prefers his movies with more of a plot. But this is the price he pays for letting Jensen teach him about vampire films – some he's going to like more than others.

He has another cider while they talk about it – Jensen likes the atmosphere and agrees that a female vamp with a skateboard and a chador is a good twist – and realizes he might actually be hungry again. 

“There's something I want to tell you,” Jensen says, before Jared can bring up food. He sounds nervous.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“No.” He takes Jared's hand and slaps it against the side of his neck under his jawline. His skin is cool. Jared can't feel a pulse.

“I don't get it,” Jared says. “You have a very faint pulse?”

“I don't have a pulse.”

Jared is either very stupid or drunk again, because he can't figure out what Jensen is trying to tell him.

“This is harder than I thought,” Jensen mutters. “Maybe I'm not buzzed enough.” He lets Jared's hand fall. “I'm a vampire.”

Jared snorts a laugh, surprised. “You are not.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Prove it.”

“I'm not going to bite you.”

Jared shrugs, hands out and palms up. “Then how am I supposed to believe you?”

Jensen smiles at him, slowly, and Jared watches in disbelief as Jensen's canines elongate and sharpen. Jensen's expression takes on an inhuman, feral cast. It would be a subtly creepy effect in any of the movies he's made Jared watch, but this is real, not CGI, and Jared has to believe it.

“Shit,” he says. He realizes he's sliding away from Jensen, as far as the couch will let him, and tries to make himself relax. “You're not going to bite me now, are you?”

Jensen closes his mouth and shakes his head briefly, and the effect is gone. He looks like himself again. He looks human. “I just said I wouldn't. If I wanted to bite you, I would have done it by now.”

Jared takes a deep breath and lets himself be reassured. “Who else knows? Does Misha?”

“I haven't decided whether or not to tell him. If he knows, he'll tell Vicky, and I don't think I trust either of them to keep their mouths shut.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“It's a lonely secret to keep and I was tired of keeping it. You're my friend. I trust you.”

“So that painting of you and Abigail in your apartment, the one where you look like an extra in a movie about Queen Victoria, that's not you playing dress-up?”

“Nope. That's me a hundred and thirty years ago.”

“Shit.”

Jensen looks concerned. “Are you going to freak out? I shouldn't have told you.”

“No, I'm glad you did.” Jared answers without thinking, but he is glad. Now that he isn't so taken by surprise and can think about it, he's not afraid of Jensen – he's known the guy long enough to know that he's harmless, and besides, as Jensen said, he's had several opportunities to bite Jared, and hasn't taken any of them.

A lot of things make sense now – Jensen's love of vampire movies, all the vampire books on his shelves, his absolute refusal to go anywhere or do anything outside of the bar during daylight hours, the way he never eats.

“What's all the hot sauce for?”

“What?” Jensen asks.

“Do you put it on your – wait, how often do you have to, uh, feed? Where do you get blood from?”

“I can't really taste anything anymore. I can eat real food, but it doesn't do anything for me and it tastes like nothing. It's like eating dust. But the really hot peppers, I can taste those. Likewise the kind of kimchi that will burn a hole in the container. So sometimes I'll put that on my – on my dinner.”

Jared chuckles at how circumspect Jensen is about what he needs to eat. “But where do you get it from? Your 'dinner'.”

“Blood banks.”

“Blood banks?” He knows he looks appalled. He _is_ appalled. “People need that!”

“I know. I try to take really common blood types, or anything they have a lot of. I have a contact. Sometimes I'll get it from a butcher. Cow's blood isn't as good, but it does the trick.” He tilts his head. “You're not grossed out?”

Jared shrugs. “I don't know. I mean, I am grossed out, but I'm also really curious. I've never met one of the undead. Are there more of you?”

“I don't know. I don't think so. I've never met another one.”

“Huh. Can you go into churches? Does holy water really repel you? What about garlic? Or silver?” The picture frame on the nightstand in Jensen's bedroom looks like silver.

“I haven't tried to walk inside a church in centuries, so I don't know what holy water does. Garlic powder's okay – it itches if I spill it on myself – garlic cloves aren't. You already know I never go outside when the sun's up. Silver hurts like a burn, but it won't kill me. Crosses are a little bit like vampire repellant, but I haven't tried to touch one so I don't know if they'll hurt me too.”

“How old are you? Is that a rude question?”

“Well, I just told you I'm undead, so no. I'm old. I was born – do you really want to know?”

“Yeah. I really want to know.”

“1752.”

Jared blinks. Jensen is older than the country.

“Shit.”

“You said you weren't going to freak out.”

“I'm not. That means you were around for the Revolutionary War. Did you know Paul Revere? What about the real Sam Adams? Or John Adams? Ben Franklin? Alexander Hamilton? Did you know the real Alexander Hamilton?”

Jensen laughs at the sudden eagerness in Jared's voice. “I knew _of_ Paul Revere. Samuel Adams was a rabble-rouser. His beer was pretty good, though. I got in a fight once, in a bar – everyone had been drinking, politics were tense, tensions were high – and I punched this guy in the face. It was an accident, sort of. I was aiming for someone else. Come to find out, literally centuries later, that was Alexander Hamilton.”

“You hit Hamilton in the face?” Jared repeats, incredulous. “Holy shit. That's so cool!”

Jensen laughs again, startled by Jared's reaction, and says “That's not the response I was expecting.”

“You were there! You were part of history! You have to talk to my mom. I told you she teaches high school, right? She teaches American history!” He can't believe this. He has an actual witness to actual historical events sitting right next to him. This is by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to him, up to and including the time he ran into Emmitt Smith in a grocery store.

“I can't talk to your mom! You can't tell anyone.”

“You said it was a lonely secret and you were tired of keeping it. So don't keep it!”

“Jared, you're the only person I've told in over two hundred years, and that's because I want to think I know you well enough to trust you. What makes you think I want total strangers to know?”

“She's not a total stranger, she's my mom. Think of all the history you could set straight.”

“I wasn't a witness to most of it. I carried a musket in defense of the colonies, just like a lot of people, but I didn't know anyone famous, I didn't dump tea in the harbor, most of the time I baked my bread and kept to myself.”

“You got in a bar fight and punched Alexander Hamilton in the face.” That's too good of a story to not tell. It almost doesn't even matter that it was Hamilton and not someone else. Jensen punched one of the Sons of Liberty in a bar brawl. The Sons of Liberty got involved in bar brawls. They were real people with normal human emotions, and they did the kinds of stupid things excited people do. They weren't just figureheads for a revolution. They weren't just names in a history book, or even characters in a musical. They were _real_.

“That was one time,” Jensen says. “Don't tell anyone. Please. I don't want people showing up at my bar wanting to ask me a million questions about shit I didn't see or do.”

“But - “

“No buts. It's a secret. I don't want people throwing holy water on me either, or hounding me out of the city for being a bloodsucker. I want to run my bar and serve people drinks and live a quiet life like anyone else.”

Jared sighs. His mother would be so excited to talk history with someone who knew it as well as Jensen must. But he gets it, he does. It's a big deal, admitting to someone that you're a vampire, that you're two hundred and sixty years old, that you survive by drinking blood. It's not the kind of thing you tell everyone, not if it's really true. Besides, even if Jared did tell his mom that his best friend was born in Boston in 1752 and was around for the Declaration of Independence and the Revolutionary War – that he got in a fight with Alexander Hamilton – there's no guarantee she'd believe him.

“Don't tell your mom,” Jensen repeats. “Or Chad. Don't tell Chad either.”

“I won't.”

“Get another drink and I'll tell you how it happened.”

Jared pushes himself off the couch and goes into the kitchen to do just that. Jensen has started buying soda for him, so Jared takes out a Coke out of the fridge and contemplates the containers of kimchi and the bottle of hot sauce labeled “Lucifer's Tears” with a new appreciation.

He can also appreciate that Jensen doesn't keep his bloodbags in the fridge.

“You don't have to tell me how it happened,” he says, walking back into the living room and sitting on the couch.

“I want to. I've already told you the big secret, I may as well tell you the small ones.”

“Wait. The little portrait in your bedroom, that you said was your wife, was she your wife back then? Is she also undead?”

“No, she's... dead-dead. She had a cousin who lived in the Commons Settlement, which you might know as Dogtown – it's protected land now, no one lives there, but it used to have farms and cottages and regular inhabitants. It's part of Gloucester. Joanna's cousin had just had a baby, it was a difficult birth, and Joanna wanted to go see her and bring her and her husband some food and a baby blanket. They were tenant farmers. They didn't have much. It was dark when we left their house, which was dumb of us, but I needed to get back to the bakery and I don't think the cousin's husband really wanted us there, and we were attacked on the road.”

He pauses, about at the point where another person would take a drink of something to wet their throat. Jared swallows some Coke in sympathy.

“Someone found us and brought us to the closest farmhouse,” Jensen goes on. His eyes are steady on Jared's face. It's a little unnerving. “They wrapped her in a sheet. I never got to see her. They told me I was completely unconscious for about three days, and then I was sick with some kind of fever for another week and a half. I don't remember anything for two weeks, but when I finally came out of it I was _ravenous_. Something kept me from eating the family, so I drained one of their cows, but it felt so wrong and I felt so guilty I just took off.” Jared puts a hand on his arm. “I knew something was wrong with me but I didn't know what. By then someone had identified Joanna's body and gotten her brother – he lived in Rhode Island, where his wife's family had a farm – both their parents were dead – they buried her in the family plot and told my family I'd died of a fever. I'd disappeared, remember, and I was so freaked out about what was happening to me that I hid. My mom and my brother refused to believe I was dead, but when all their searches failed to find me, they eventually gave up.”

“Where did you go? What happened to the bakery?”

“My sister and her husband took it over. I hid in the woods for a while, trying to figure out what was wrong with me and how I could live. There was a lot of trial and error until I learned what could and couldn't hurt me, and what I could and couldn't do. I tried not to eat people, but deer just weren't cutting it. I, uh, I ate a tracker, a woodsman. I'm not proud of that.” His arm twitches a little under Jared's hand. “I felt simultaneously so much better and so much worse, but the blood took over and it was a few years until I came back to myself enough to seek out civilization again. I spent a lot of time hiding, until everyone I knew was either dead or had moved on, and I could come out and not have to worry about being seen.”

“I'm sorry. It sounds really shitty.”

“It was. But I learned how to live among people without being found out. I did odd jobs, saved some money, bought some land way outside the city, built a little cabin. It's a hard life. I don't recommend it.”

“When did you go to Texas? _Why_ did you go to Texas?”

“Change of scene.” Jensen manages a smile. His expression is a little less intense. “It was the new frontier and I thought I could make a new life there, away from all the things that reminded me of everything I'd lost. I wouldn't know anyone. Besides, I'd been alive about a hundred years and because I never aged, people around here were suspicious. I was nervous about having to set myself up all over again in a place I didn't know, and I was concerned about how I'd survive the trip, but I lucked out and met someone on the way. His name was Christian and he was traveling with his older sister to what would become Dallas. He was my Renfield.” Jensen grins. “I didn't call him that, obviously, and I didn't tell him the real reason I needed him, but he agreed to basically be my agent for anything I couldn't do myself. I bought land and built a commercial building and a small hotel, then sold those to buy more land and build on that. I still own a couple of commercial buildings in Dallas. You asked how I could afford to buy this one.” He waves around the room, indicating the building where Abigail's is located, where he lives and collects rent from tenants. “It used to be cheap to buy around here, and I've owned this building a long time.”

“Wow,” Jared says, meaning the entire story, not just Jensen's real estate holdings. “So you were in Texas before it was a state.”

“Not quite. It had joined the US by the time I arrived, but everything was still a little in flux. Those were fun times.” His voice is dry. “I didn't really like all the political upheaval, which is funny considering what was going on when I was growing up.”

“No, it makes sense. Just because you grow up in one kind of situation doesn't mean that's what you want for the rest of your life.”

“But I liked it, even with the occasional Comanche raid, and when the cravings got unbearable I'd go out at night and... hunt.” His arm twitches again. Jared can guess what he means, and doesn't ask for clarification. “Again, I'm not proud. Things are so much easier now. It's not as easy to hide – there are fewer empty spaces to lose yourself in – or to fake identification, but I can still leave my estate to myself every sixty years, and it's easier to find things and learn things, and so much easier to make a living without ever leaving the house. People live longer and stay younger longer and aren't as suspicious when you've looked the same for three decades. I've been a bartender in some fashion for about a hundred years. I survived Prohibition, one civil war, two world wars, the Spanish flu, AIDS, Comanche raids, and so many societal upheavals I've lost count. I met Christian in the middle of the nineteenth century and I'm finally making friends again. It's a lonely life, I won't lie, and I never would've chosen it, if whatever attacked me and Joanna on the road gave me a choice, but sometimes it's not terrible. I've learned to make the best of it.”

“You just need to get out more.”

“Says the man whose best friend is an undead bartender.” Jensen grins brightly and they both laugh. “I'll take you to a night game at Fenway, if the Sox play any. I can go out for fireworks on the Fourth of July. Misha made me watch them on New Year's Eve. I had to close the bar for an hour – I wasn't excited about that, because New Year's is good money – but he can be very persistent.”

“We'll go out on the Fourth,” Jared says. “I'll come get you after the sun sets and we'll go out and see them. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Jared holds out his hand. Jensen shakes it and they both laugh again.

“So that's the story,” Jensen says. “It has a tragic beginning but right now it has a happy ending. I meant it when I said you can't tell anyone. Christian worked with me for thirty years and I never told him the truth. You really are the first.”

“I swear I won't tell.” Jared crosses his heart. He likes Jensen too much to betray his trust, even if this is the kind of story that he'll spend the rest of his life bursting to share. It has everything – love, violence, tragedy, history, trust, friendship, poverty, and money. “Why did you leave Dallas? What happened to Christian?”

“He got old and I didn't, and after all those years in Texas I realized I missed home. By then I could take the railroad, so I sold everything but my real estate, found a young lawyer to take care of it, left Christian some money, and came back. They'd filled in the river to make the Back Bay, and my bakery was long gone, and I found I didn't want to live in the city after all. I did the same thing I did in Texas – bought some land, built some buildings, tried to set myself up in some kind of career. I opened a bakery, because I missed it, and made bread and rolls for hotels. I opened a bar. I sold everything and moved into the city. I bought this place. I opened Abigail's. I figured out where to get blood, and I realized I didn't need as much as I used to. I didn't really make friends, but I had some acquaintances. I kept in touch with Christian until he passed, and when I decided it was time to pretend to die myself and leave my estate, such as it was, to my 'nephew', I willed his family one of my buildings in Dallas.” He looks around. “Shit, it's late. Come downstairs and I'll feed you and pour you a drink. No, Danny will feed you and pour you a drink, and I'll sit with you and you can help me do the crossword like normal people.”

“Jensen, we are not normal people.”

“I've been pretending for over two hundred and thirty years. Pretending for one night is nothing.” His words are serious, but he's smiling, and Jared can't help but smile back.

“It's a lot to take in, though.”

“I know.” Jensen stands and holds out his hand. “If I didn't think you could handle it, I wouldn't have told you.”

Jared lets himself be pulled to his feet. “I'm glad you did. I'm sure I'll think of something else to ask you. Is there anything you don't want to talk about?”

“I won't know until you ask. Come on. Let's go.”

 

They go downstairs to the bar, where Danneel has things well under control. She mixes Jared a mystery mocktail and brings him a plate of nachos, and he and Jensen sit at the bar and do the crossword and talk about everything and nothing, like normal people.

Jared doesn't ask any more vampire questions, realizing that Jensen would probably rather answer them in private and not at the bar where Danneel or anyone else could hear. But on the way home his head buzzes with them – _How did you keep people from finding out? How hard is it to change your identity and leave your stuff to yourself? How can you keep making friends, knowing they're all going to die on you? Do you ever think about turning someone else, so you'll have company? Don't you miss the daylight? Don't you miss food? Is that why your apartment's always a little cold? What does blood taste like? How did you used to do business if you couldn't go outside during the day? Did people just always come to you? How many people have you eaten? Will you show up on a selfie?_

He's unlocking the door of his apartment when he realizes that Jensen's thermos, which he said contained reaper infused vodka, was probably full of blood. Blood and vodka. Now he's grossed out. But he's not worried about Jensen biting him, and as long as that's true, he can be cool about the blood-drinking.

It's not long before he realizes how this changes his New Mexico vacation plans. They can't fly. But Jared could rent an RV or a camper with blackout curtains so Jensen won't accidentally turn into a crispy critter. Misha would never forgive him if Jensen went up in flames on the road.

Jared wonders if Jensen even knows how to drive. Can you take driving lessons in the middle of the night? How would he get a license? He can't take his driving test during the day, and he can't go to the DMV to get his picture taken. They're not open that late, and the cameras might not even work on him. But it doesn't matter. Jared can drive all the way to New Mexico and back if necessary. He drove from Texas to North Carolina, and from North Carolina to Massachusetts, and at least Jensen can talk to him and keep him awake.

It's not a terrible plan. Jared looks up RV parks and campgrounds and nearby places to rent a camper. He reads up on pepper farms in New Mexico, not just the one with the experimental superhots. He asks Chad if there are better or worse times to visit, and when Chad hedges he says he's bringing his mystery bartender friend.

At the same time Jared is planning the trip to New Mexico, he's thinking more and more seriously about quitting his job and going freelance. He wants to do something because it's what he likes, something he's choosing out of desire and not desperation. He took the job in Boston because he wanted to get out of Durham and it was the first opportunity that popped up. But now he can make career decisions from a place of comfort, at a point in his life when his current situation is actually okay.

The money insecurity makes him a little anxious, but he has savings and he knows he can find work if he hustles. Misha no doubt knows someone, or at least knows someone who knows someone, who can help. Jared just has to ask.

A timeline coalesces in his head: Quit job. Take road trip. Go freelance.

In the meantime, he keeps going to work and fixing computer problems for accountants and auditors and biting his tongue over the home office's bureaucratic solutions to simple problems. He hangs out in Abigail's. He chats with Misha and occasionally Vicky. He watches movies in Jensen's apartment. He even manages to coax Jensen out of the building once to see a late show at the movie theater on Boston Common. Jensen tells him a little bit about Texas in the early decades of its statehood, and it's almost the end of June when Jared has enough travel information to bring up the road trip.

“You want us to do what?” is Jensen's response. Jared waited until movie night to mention it, so they can argue in private. He brought it up even before Jensen could tell him what the movie selection is. “I can't leave the bar that long.”

“Isn't that why you hired Danneel?” Jared points out. “She'll work for a week and then you can close for a week and say you're remodeling. You're not open a lot of hours during the summer anyway. You should change that, by the way, now that you have someone to serve drinks when it's still light out.”

“I'll think about it. Where did this road trip come from?”

“Remember I said Misha told me about the pepper farmer in New Mexico who's trying to breed the hottest peppers in existence? He suggested we take a vacation out there, because if anyone could get you to leave the building, I could.”

Jensen chuckles. “He's not quite wrong. But I can't go away for weeks on end. Even if Danny can watch the bar the whole time, I have tenants, remember?”

“So ask her to keep an eye on the place. Landlords go on vacation all the time.”

“And if there's an emergency?”

“You have a phone. Tell your tenants you're going to be out of town for two weeks but they can call if there's an emergency. How often do they need you, anyway? We'll go during the middle of the month, so you'll still be around to collect rent.”

“When were you thinking about going?”

“Next month.”

Jensen blinks at him. “Next month is in a week and a half.”

“I know. I'll go to Misha and Vicky's Fourth of July party, we'll see the fireworks, and a couple days later, we'll leave.”

“What about your job? Can you take two weeks?”

“I'm quitting. Misha says he and Vicky can get me some freelance gigs.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not. I just want to do something because I want to do it, you know? I think I'm ready to be my own boss. I'm nervous about it but I've got some savings and I think it'll be okay. Besides, I told Misha I could volunteer some hours for him, so I'll be putting some good into the world too.”

“I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks. I'm proud of me too. So you think the road trip will be fun?” He puts on his best eager-puppy face. “You can see the desert at midnight. You can meet the pepper farmer in person! And eat her peppers! And spend two weeks with me.” He grins. Jensen rolls his eyes. “I've been taking pest lessons from Misha, just so you know.”

“I don't think I can close the bar for that long. I really can't just take off on a whim.”

“It's not a whim. I've been thinking about it since Memorial Day. I mapped out a route. I made reservations at campsites. I even emailed the pepper farmer and asked how she felt about visitors. Her name's Alona, by the way. You can have a cooler just for your blood. I won't even complain if you want to bring some of that satanic kimchi with you.”

“What about the camper? What's your plan there?”

“Blackout curtains.”

Jensen glances at the window, at his own curtains pulled tight against the sunset.

“We'll do most of our driving at night,” Jared goes on. “During the day you'll just stay inside the camper with the shades drawn. We can do it without you turning into charcoal.”

Jensen stands, walks around the room, sits back down. “I don't know.”

“I bought an actual map and stuck pins in it. My roommate thinks I'm nuts. I mapped it on Googlemaps too.” He pulls out his phone, realizes the screen is too small to get a good idea of the route, and puts the phone on the coffee table. “I'll get it to you. Ask Danneel if she can cover for you. I'm serious. It will be good for both of us.”

“I'll think about it.”

It's the best Jared is going to get right now. He's okay with it.

On July Fourth he brings another bottle of white wine to Misha and Vicky's party. They have a lot of the same guests that they had for Memorial Day, plus some small children. The party itself is very similar, with Misha manning the grill for a while and Vicky circulating and schmoozing, and then the two of them trading places. Jared has given notice at the accounting firm. He doesn't have any freelance or contract work lined up yet, but he's about to go on vacation – and he's decided that he's driving to New Mexico and Arizona anyway, whether Jensen comes or not – and has more immediate things to think about.

One of those things is why Jensen hasn't made a decision about the road trip yet. Jared doesn't know why he's still waffling, and is out of ways to convince him to go.

He'll go over to Jensen's after the party and when the sun sets they'll walk down to the Esplanade to watch the fireworks. And in the meantime, Misha and Vicky have nice friends, the food is delicious, and Jared is having a good time.

He tries not to drink too much, but the beer is cold and he likes to support local breweries. He feels a little wobbly by the time the party breaks up and he heads over to Abigail's, but it's a good wobbly, a pleasant high. In two days he'll be unemployed, he has a vacation planned with his best friend without knowing for sure if his best friend is even coming with him, he doesn't know if this freelance thing will work, and he doesn't think he's ever been happier.

The sun is slowly falling, setting the west-facing windows of the buildings on fire. The sidewalks are crowded with people and dogs and strollers, everything is bright and beautiful, he's full of beer and barbecue, and why isn't Jensen letting him in? Oh right, he needs to press the buzzer. Knocking won't do anything. The door to the building clicks open and he bounces up the stairs.

“Okay, I'll go with you,” is the first thing Jensen says when he opens his apartment door.

“Fantastic!” Jared throws his arms around Jensen's neck. Jensen laughs.

“How much did you drink?” he asks.

“Enough. Vicky plied me with Night Shift. I'm a little drunk.”

“Just a little.” Jensen grins. “Come in.” He waves Jared into the kitchen, where two shot glasses are sitting on the table along with a bottle of what is presumably vodka, because there are slices of hot peppers and some seeds floating in it. Jared looks at it apprehensively, remembering his previous experience with Jensen's experimental pepper vodka. Jensen pours each of them a shot and hands Jared a glass.

“Um,” Jared says, and then “I'm not that drunk.”

“Cheers,” Jensen says, clinking the glasses together. He downs his shot, then takes Jared's and downs that as well. “To road tripping.”

“Does that do anything?” Jensen said that food doesn't nourish him, so would alcohol have any effect?

“Just wait.” Jensen retrieves a thermos from the fridge, pours the contents into a glass, sticks the glass in the microwave, nukes it for ten seconds, and pours it back into the thermos. He adds some vodka, shakes it up, and sips it. He sighs with pleasure. “I have to drink it with blood to feel anything. It doesn't seem fair to always be the sober one at the party.”

Jared makes a noise of disgust. He can't help it. Knowing Jensen has to drink blood is one thing. Having to see it is something else entirely.

“Don't knock it. It keeps me alive.” Jensen grins. “I didn't think you'd be hungry when you got here, but I have hot dogs, buns, and potato salad downstairs for later, and I've got beer and soda up here – Sam Adams, of course – I even baked you an apple pie.”

“Really? You didn't have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to. I can even douse it in hot sauce and eat it with you. What do you want to do until the fireworks start? I rented _1776_ – I know you're not a fan of musicals, but it's funny – or we can just hang out. Tell me about this road trip I just agreed to go on. Did I tell you I don't know how to drive?”

“No, but I didn't think you did. Can I have some water or something?”

“Oh, sure, sorry. Go sit.” Jensen waves him out of the kitchen, so Jared goes and sits on the couch until Jensen brings him a glass of water, and then he tells Jensen what he learned about RV camping, where the campsites are, what his plans are for driving cross-country with a vampire in the car, and what he told Chad.

“He wants to meet you,” he finishes.

“Good,” Jensen says. “I want to meet him too.”

They talk about hot peppers and what Danneel is going to do while Jensen is traveling. Jensen tells Jared about going to hear the Declaration of Independence being read from the old State House, back when it was the only State House. He's only shared a little bit of his long past – Jared gets the impression he doesn't want to talk about it much – so every new piece of information Jared can pry out of him is another piece in a puzzle that will never be finished. It's frustrating and fascinating in equal measure, the little bits Jared learns about Jensen's history.

“We didn't have fireworks,” Jensen says. “We had other things to worry about. Taxes, treason, you know. Little things like that.”

Jared snickers. “Tell me more about it.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You won't let me tell my mom about you. At least tell me this shit so I can tell her something.”

Jensen ends up talking about his bakery, which is more interesting than Jared would have guessed. Eventually they take a break so Jared can have a couple of hot dogs, some potato salad, and a beer, and so Jensen can drink more of his reaper vodka-laced blood, and a little while after that, Jared suggests they go down to the Esplanade to find a spot from which to watch the fireworks.

“I think we can see them from the roof,” Jensen says. “There's already a huge crowd. Do you want to brave the hordes?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Instead of having a nice private view from my roof? You can have pie. Most importantly, if we stay here, we can actually hear the concert.” He turns on the TV and flips channels until he finds the right coverage, and they listen to the Boston Pops, have another drink, and heat up the pie.

They go up to the roof a few minutes before the fireworks are supposed to start. Jared can't tell if the view is going to be good or not, but being able to hang out in Jensen's living room and drink and eat and chat, rather than pushing through the crowds trying to find a spot to watch from, was very pleasant and relaxing. He's glad Jensen decided to come west with him, even if it does mean he'll have to do all the driving himself.

Last Fourth of July, Jared and his now-ex watched fireworks over the baseball stadium from the back patio of a bar in Durham. They were surrounded by friends and strangers, and the fireworks show itself was as exciting as any Jared had seen. But Boston's show is bigger.

Of course it is. This is where America was born.

They watch in silence, leaning against the parapet around the roof with their shoulders touching. The night is warm but there's a little bit of a breeze, and the boom and hiss of the fireworks is the only thing Jared can hear. He glances over at Jensen just once, and Jensen is watching the show with rapt attention, the different colors of the lights reflected as bright spots in his eyes. Jared hasn't really noticed how beautiful his best friend can be, until right now.

Then a bang draws his attention back to a massive blue puffball exploding over the river, and the moment is gone.

“That was amazing,” he says, after the cacophonous finale, when every firework went off at once and the noise was deafening.

“It really was,” Jensen says. “I never imagined I'd get to see something like that, back when I was young.” He's still leaning against the parapet, looking towards the river. Jared watches his profile.

“What are you thinking?”

“Everything's changed so much, since I was... since before....” He waves a hand, at a loss. “I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't have had more vodka.”

“Are you buzzed?” Jared asks, amused.

“That was the plan. Do you think I'll have a hangover?” He laughs. “Of course I won't. There are some benefits to being me. Come on. Let's go back inside.” He takes Jared's arm and pulls him towards the door and the stairs down.

It's late and Jared wants to go home, and he wants to stay with Jensen, and he's not sure what he wants to do. He was up early to meet Misha and Vicky and some of their friends to hear the Declaration being read from the old State House, and while they were off getting ready for their party he walked around and pretended to be a tourist and found a nice bottle of wine to bring them. He's a little drunk, but it's a tired, happy drunk. He has no complaints.

They go back down to Abigail's to wrap up the rest of the pie. The bar is dark, Jensen having closed it so he and Danneel could have the night off. He and Jared are standing in the bar kitchen, the plastic-wrapped pie on the counter, when Jensen touches Jared's cheek, then pulls his face close and kisses him.

Jared is too surprised to do anything, even kiss back.

“Um,” he says, when Jensen releases him.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Jensen says immediately. “I shouldn't have - “

“You were married. You had a wife.”

“I had a boyfriend, too. I didn't call him that, but that's what he was.”

“Christian?”

“For thirty years. Well, we weren't a couple the whole time – things moved a little slower back then, and of course we couldn't tell anyone – but... we were partners.”

Jared's brain tries to process this new piece of information. It's not as if he doesn't know any bisexual guys, but he never thought of Jensen as liking men. “Has there been anyone since?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

“Not yet.” Jensen is smiling at him, looking vastly amused. “All I did was kiss you, and you didn't even kiss me back.”

“I was just surprised, is all. I'm still a little drunk. I should probably go home.”

“You don't want to stay?” Disappointment creeps into Jensen's voice.

“I have to go to work tomorrow. I can't wear this.” Jared gestures at his t-shirt and shorts and sandals.

“Go in late. I thought you quit.”

“I did, but I still have to go in. I have some shit to finish up.”

Why is he arguing? Why can't he just say yes, of course he'll stay? He can go home tomorrow morning, change clothes, go to work late. What are they going to do, fire him?

“I'll make you breakfast,” Jensen says. He puts his hand on the back of Jared's neck. “I won't molest you in the middle of the night. I just want to kiss you again.”

In answer, Jared pulls him close, and it's a better kiss because they're both involved. Jensen clearly hasn't kissed anyone in a long time, but Jared thinks it must be like riding a bike, because the longer it goes on, the more Jensen seems to remember.

He has to pull away when he can't breathe.

“Sorry,” Jensen says, laughing a little. “I forgot.”

“That I have to breathe and you don't?” Jared grins. “Don't let me sleep too late.”

“I have an alarm clock. Take your pie.”

Jared takes the pie back upstairs to Jensen's apartment, puts it in the fridge next to the current bottle of hot sauce, strips down to his boxer briefs, and climbs into Jensen's bed. Jensen has actual pajamas. Jared snickers. Jensen pretends to be annoyed. Jared scoots closer and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Jensen follows that with a longer kiss before telling him to go to sleep. Jared doesn't need to be told.

The alarm clock wakes him up. Jensen is spooned against him, face pressed into his neck. Jared can feel the pressure of someone else's nose, but not the whiff of someone else's breath or the heat of someone else's body. It's very strange. It's as if Jensen isn't there, except for the weight of his body against Jared's back and legs, his arm flung across Jared's waist, the brush of pajama fabric against Jared's skin. Jared allows himself to wonder, just for a minute, what it would be like to fuck someone who's technically dead. Is he ready for that? Is Jensen? The RV has a queen bed, and the sleeping space over the cab is big enough for two. He rented it thinking they could each have their own bed, but now he guesses they'll share. He's okay with that. They can talk through the specifics when they're on the road.

And in the meantime, he really does have to leave, so he can go home, change into something more professional, and go to work. He lifts Jensen's arm off him, trying to get out of bed without waking him, but either Jensen was already awake, or the alarm woke him up too, because he pulls on Jared's shoulder until Jared rolls over.

“Good morning,” he says. “How'd you sleep?”

“Really well,” Jared says. He hasn't shared a bed with anyone since he and the ex broke up, and he forgot how much better he sleeps next to someone else. “You?”

“Also well. I only need about four hours, though. I've been awake for a while.”

“Why didn't you get up?”

“Why do you think?”

Jared kisses him, and Jensen kisses back, and it takes a great deal of effort for Jared to finally extricate himself and get out of bed. He wasn't expecting this, for Jensen to want him, or for him to want Jensen back. He can't say he never thought about it, but he can say he never thought it could actually happen.

They'll have to talk about it. Not now, but soon. In a few days they'll be stuck in an RV for two weeks. All they'll have is time.

* * *

“Who's this?” Jared asks Danneel, who's wiping down the bar and keeping an eye on the few customers in Abigail's at the same time. It's past sunset and Jared has come to collect Jensen for their trip to New Mexico to see the pepper farmer. Whatever is playing on the bar stereo sounds a little rockish and a little punkish, and Jared doesn't recognize it at all.

“I don't know,” Danneel says. “Jensen has a pile of CDs without labels back here. It wasn't offensive so I left it on. Aren't you leaving tonight? Why are you here?”

“I wanted to wish you luck holding down the fort by yourself.”

“You're sweet. I'll be fine. Did you tell Jensen you were here?”

“I called and told him I was coming in to say hi. So, hi.” He grins.

“You're cute. I take it you don't want a beer for the road.”

“That would probably be a bad idea. The RV has a kitchenette, so I can cook if I want to, and I already put a six-pack in the fridge.”

Someone comes up to the bar to order a couple of drinks. Jared listens to the music and mentally runs over his route and waits for Jensen.

“Who is this?” he asks, when Jensen finally appears with a wheelie suitcase, a laptop bag, and a cooler.

“The music? They're called the Krays. Mid-80s punk band from New York. What do you think?”

Jared cocks his head, listening. He can't make out the words, but the guitars sound good. “Not bad. Are you ready?”

“And willing. You have my cell,” he tells Danneel. “Don't burn the place down.” She rolls her eyes.

It takes Jensen another fifteen minutes to actually leave the bar, which is finally accomplished by Jared grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the place.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Jared asks, as they walk down the street to the garage where the RV is parked. “You don't have to.”

“I said I would,” Jensen says. “Alona's expecting us. You want me to. I'm trying to get out and do new things. You may have noticed that I'm not the most spontaneous person.”

“Kissing me wasn't spontaneous?” Jared grins and Jensen chuckles.

“To be honest, no, it wasn't.”

“How long did you have to think about it?”

“Long enough.”

Jensen admires how efficiently Jared packed up the RV. They adjust the front seats and head out.

Traffic is light, as Jared expected. They cruise out of Boston and head west towards New York, passing fewer and fewer signs of civilization as they cross the state border.

“I've never been west this far north,” Jared says. “There's a lot of nothing out here.”

Jensen snorts. “Where did you grow up? What's Texas, other than a lot of nothing?”

“It is not. It's full of small towns and rodeos. You left before there was really a lot going on.”

Jensen tries to find a good station on the radio, eventually giving up and plugging his phone into the console. They listen to the Krays, now that Jared can hear the lyrics. Jensen has audiobooks too, and he's pretty sure he can get online stations through his phone. Right now Jared is perfectly happy to listen to whatever music Jensen has.

They stop for gas, pee breaks (for Jared), food breaks (also for Jared), and once to stretch their legs on a surface that isn't moving. Jared feels himself flagging around three in the morning, so they pull into a rest stop so he can nap. Jensen wakes him up after an hour and they continue on.

The nap doesn't do much to help, but the longer he drives, the more excited Jared gets. He's aware that road-tripping with someone who has a severe sun allergy presents some very special problems, but he's sure he's anticipated enough of them. He's excited to have Jensen's undisturbed time for two weeks. Even if Jensen hadn't kissed him, even if Jared wasn't expecting to share a bed the whole trip, even if he wasn't expecting to get naked and sweaty, he'd still be excited to have Jensen all to himself. He likes spending time with the guy. He likes that they still have a lot to learn about each other, and he knows that if he could just get Jensen to talk about his history in more detail, he could learn a lot. He has someone local to talk to. Jensen has someone to talk to who isn't Misha.

Besides, this trip has gotten Jensen out of the house, and Jared is proud of himself for accomplishing what over a century in Boston couldn't. Even Misha with all his persistence and pestering never managed to get Jensen to leave Abigail's for any length of time. And here Jared has convinced him to not just leave town, but to cross the country in an RV to meet a chile farmer and talk about peppers.

“What?” Jensen says.

“What what?”

“You look pleased with yourself.”

“I am. I got you to leave the house.” Jared feels the biggest shit-eating grin spread across his face. “When was the last time you left Boston? When you took off for Texas in the nineteenth century. Right? And I got you to go to New Mexico.” He can probably give Misha some credit for mentioning the pepper farmer in the first place and putting the idea in his head, but all the leg work, all the emails and phone calls and research, that's on him.

Jensen doesn't say anything, but when Jared glances over at him, he's smiling. It's a little smile, like he's thinking of something he doesn't want to share.

They pull off the highway into another rest stop when Jensen points out the sky has been lightening. He climbs into the bunk over the front seats and closes the curtains across the front of it. There's a TV up there. He can watch a movie until Jared stops at the campground.

The sun is up by the time Jared finds the RV park and checks in. He's really drooping, and almost forgets to close all the curtains before he pokes his head into the bunk and tells Jensen they're parked and he can come out and sleep in the bed if he wants.

“Go lie down,” Jensen commands. He gives Jared a quick kiss on the lips. “I'll join you in a second.”

Jared goes. He strips off his shorts and t-shirt, has a pee in the RV's tiny bathroom, turns on the little fan mounted to the wall next to the bed, and flops onto the mattress face-first. The bed is just barely long enough for him, but he's so tired he doesn't care. He doesn't even feel Jensen lie down next to him.

He sleeps hard and wakes up confused and starving. This bed is smaller than he's used to, the mattress is thinner, and the space is more confining. Then he wakes up all the way and remembers. He's alone in the bed, but he can see Jensen sitting at the dinette, typing away on his laptop.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Jensen says. “How do you feel?”

“I'm not sure.” Jared stretches, climbs off the bed, and stretches again. “What time is it?”

“Almost five. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” Jared comes over and sits across the table from him. “Are you? What are you doing?”

“Telling Alona about my reapers.”

Jared toasts a bagel in the RV's toaster oven, makes coffee, butters the bagel, slices a hard-boiled egg over it. He provisioned the kitchen before he picked up Jensen, but he's never taken a trip in a camper and wasn't sure how good the kitchen would be, so he didn't buy anything he'd have to cook. Neither he nor Jensen has unpacked Jensen's cooler, but Jared can guess what's inside.

He toasts another bagel and puts peanutbutter on it. He should have brought jam. He watches Jensen finish up and close his laptop.

“Is it crossword time?” Jared asks around a mouthful of bagel. Jensen leans down and pulls a book of crossword puzzles from his laptop bag. Jared laughs.

They pick a crossword. Jared finishes his breakfast. He wants to stretch his legs, see some sunlight, take advantage of the campground showers. Tonight they'll unpack the two folding chairs that came with the RV and sit outside for a little while, enjoying the fresh air before heading out to the next stop.

But Jensen has other ideas. Jared goes for a run, but when he comes back to collect his soap and a towel, Jensen grabs his t-shirt, pulls him close, and kisses him hard.

“What was that for?” Jared asks, laughing a little breathlessly, when Jensen finally releases him.

“I wanted to.” His hand is still on the back of Jared's head. They stand there in the dim RV and kiss again, and again, and again, until Jared has lost track of time and no longer even remembers where they are or what else he was supposed to be doing. Jensen has a tendency to hold Jared close until Jared has to push him away – evidently not having to breathe means Jensen can't remember that other people might need to.

“Jesus,” Jared says. He's out of breath and growing hard and he's sweaty and stinky and he wants to take a shower and he wants Jensen to fuck him and he doesn't know what he wants. He wants to kiss Jensen again.

Jensen bites his lip this time, a hopefully unintentional nip that causes both of them to jerk away from each other.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jensen says, “I didn't mean to do that.” He pulls at Jared's t-shirt, and once it's off he licks at Jared's chest, his nipples, the hollow of his throat. “Your skin is so warm,” he murmurs.

“I was running.” Jared can't catch his breath. “I'm all hot and sweaty. Do I taste like salt?”

“You don't taste like anything. I could put hot sauce on you.”

Jared is not turned off by the idea.

“We should do this on the bed,” Jensen goes on, straightening up and pulling off his own shirt. His jeans are next, followed by his boxers, until he's standing naked in front of Jared, his skin pale and freckled, his uncut cock half-hard.

Jared can feel his heart hammering in his chest. Is he nervous? Why is he nervous? It's just Jensen. He knows Jensen. He likes Jensen. He trusts Jensen.

And trust is important when you're about to have sex with someone who can suck your blood until you're dead.

“Why am I the only one who's naked?” Jensen asks, joking. He reaches for Jared's running shorts. Jared backs up until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and then he sits, yanks off his shoes, his socks, his shorts, his boxer briefs. Jensen pushes him back, climbs onto the mattress next to him. They rearrange themselves, kiss some more, rearrange themselves again.

“The bed's too small,” Jared says. He feels crowded.

“The bunk ceiling is too low,” Jensen answers. He runs his tongue across Jared's jaw, down his throat, his chest, his belly, all the way to his cock. Jared sucks in a breath as Jensen licks up and down the shaft, swipes his tongue across the head, and swallows it down.

And here Jared learns the best thing about getting head from the undead – they don't have to breathe and they don't have a gag reflex.

“Ohhh god,” he pants. “Jesus... fuck....” He tries to lie still, to let Jensen work, but the temptation to fuck Jensen's mouth is strong and the temptation to just let himself come is stronger.

Jensen's hand closes hard around the base of Jared's cock and he stops.

“What - “ Jared pants. Jensen lifts his head.

“Don't come.”

Jared would laugh if he had any breath to do so. “Then get up here and kiss me.” Jensen obliges.

But Jared is hard enough to jackhammer concrete, and it only takes one look to know Jensen is too. Jensen sits up, reaches into one of the cabinets over the bed, and retrieves a bottle of lube. Jared blinks at it. Jensen is clearly more prepared than he is.

“You should know I've been thinking about fucking you for a month,” Jensen murmurs, as he squirts some lube on his fingers. “But I've wanted to kiss you for longer than that.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I wasn't sure if you'd want me to.”

Jared lifts his head and licks at Jensen's lips. They part for his tongue and Jensen lets Jared lead the kiss, eventually pulling away to slide down the bed, part Jared's thighs, and slide a finger inside his body.

Jared sighs. He forgot how good this felt, to have someone touch him like this, to have someone take pleasure from giving him pleasure. He just hopes he can give enough back.

“Don't worry,” Jensen says, leaning down so his face is close to Jared's. “You can't catch anything from me, or give me anything.”

“What do you - “

“Think of the money we'll save from not having to buy condoms.” His smile is small and private.

Jared can't believe they're having this conversation. Of course Jensen has never had protected sex. There was no such thing between men when he and Christian were together, and it would have been unthinkable when Joanna was still alive. The idea that he even thought to bring it up is oddly touching. He just wants Jared to be comfortable.

“Are you ready?” Jensen asks. He pulls his hand away, wipes his fingers on Jared's chest.

“Are you?”

“What do you think?” Jensen takes Jared's hand and guides it down to his cock. Jared's fingers wrap around it and pull. Jensen's eyes close. He moans softly. Jared shifts underneath him, trying to get into a good position. He spreads his knees.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” he asks. Jensen lifts Jared's legs, drapes them over his shoulders, and guides himself inside Jared's waiting body.

Jared forgot how good this felt too, another man's cock in his ass, another man's weight on him, another man's grunts and moans in his ears. He misses the sound of Jensen's panting breaths, and he misses the flush that should be creeping across Jensen's skin as his arousal grows, but all the same, Jensen is still beautiful and careful and strong, his thrusts deep and steady, his groans low, his eyes full of heat.

Jared moans and grabs Jensen's ass, encouraging him to thrust harder and deeper. His legs slide off Jensen's shoulders, splaying out so his feet almost touch the walls on either side of the bed. He wishes they had more room. He wishes they'd done this sooner. He wishes it was dark out so they could open the curtains, so they could see the stars.

He wishes they were alone in the middle of nowhere, so no one could see them or hear them, so they could make as much noise as they wanted, so they could shake the RV hard enough to scare the birds.

“You feel better than I imagined,” Jensen says, ducking his head to press his lips to Jared's. “So close and warm.”

“I didn't even – oh fuck – hnn – Jensen - “

“You like that?”

“Harder, god – I – uhh – fuck, fuck - “

Jensen is pounding into him now, hard enough that Jared can feel the entire RV shake – he hopes it isn't, that he's just imagining that, that his brain has gotten carried away – he can't breathe, he can't speak, he can only gasp and moan. His entire existence shrinks down to this one point – Jensen on top of him, inside him, his own cock hard enough to explode, his whole body straining towards climax.

Jensen wraps a hand around his cock and that's it, that's all he needs, and he bucks up and bites his lip to keep from crying out. He can feel Jensen a bare few seconds behind him. Jensen keeps going through their double climax, slowing and stopping and flopping down on top of him.

“Shit,” Jared pants. “That was incredible.” He pushes Jensen's face up so he can look at his expression. “How'd you do that? I thought I was the first in, what, a hundred and thirty years?”

“You wouldn't believe what kind of information is available online.” Jensen grins. The fact that he isn't out of breath, isn't sweaty, isn't flushed, doesn't look in any way like he just shot out his brains through his dick is a little disconcerting. “I have a lot of stamina and a good imagination.”

“No shit.” Jared tries to slow his heart. He tries to take a breath. He needs to shower and rehydrate and put on clean clothes and all he really wants to do is lie here and recover.

“I guess it's been a while for you too.”

“Not a century.”

“Was it worth the wait?”

“I didn't think I'd be waiting so long, but yeah, it was really, really good.”

“Good.” Jensen drops a kiss on his lips, pulls out, and rolls off him. This is where one or both of them would light a cigarette, if this was an old movie.

Instead, Jared says “I don't get something.”

“What?” Jensen asks, turning to look at him.

“Your heart doesn't beat, right? It doesn't pump your blood. So your blood doesn't circulate.”

“It's a condition of being undead. So?”

“So how does your dick get hard?”

“How does - what?”

“How does your dick get hard? There's no blood rushing to it.”

Jensen chuckles. “I don't know. There is surprisingly little literature on the subject. There's a lot about sex, but almost nothing about a vampire's relevant bodily functions.”

“It's weird that I can't hear your breathing, and that you're not covered in sweat.” Jensen licks Jared's cheek. “What was that for?”

“So you're not covered in sweat either.”

“Are you going to lick me off?”

“I could.” Jensen starts with his throat, moving down to his collarbones and his chest, tongue tickling Jared's skin and making it shiver. Jared wonders idly what the recovery time is for vampires, and how long they'll have to wait for either of them to get hard again.

He should really take a shower, though. And drink something. He's parched. Sex is thirsty work, who knew?

 

Jensen apparently decides he has better things to do than lick Jared clean, because he pulls away, kisses Jared quickly, and gets up. Jared watches his back and shoulders and ass as he gets dressed. Jensen really is a good-looking man. Jared feels obscurely lucky. His ex certainly wasn't bad-looking, and he's been with other attractive people, but maybe the pretty is another condition of being undead, like the not breathing and the not carrying diseases and the needing to drink blood. Maybe people just get more attractive in undeath.

“Well?” Jensen says, favoring Jared with a raised eyebrow. “Are you just going to lie in bed all night?”

Jared rolls to his feet, puts on some clothes, gets his towel and soap, and goes to use the campground's shower facilities. The RV's shower is very small and he doesn't want to use up all the water. Besides, now that his brain is working again, he needs a little time away from Jensen to think.

There's a dad trying to wrangle his kids in the shower facilities. Jared gives the guy a nod and a sympathetic smile before stepping into a shower. He stands under the spray and scrubs himself and wonders how he got here, not just this shower in this campground, but on the road in a camper, having quit a good job with benefits and a regular salary in favor of uncertain freelance work, traveling with a vampire who happens to be a. his best friend, and b. probably now his boyfriend. He and Jensen should have a talk, just to clear some things up.

For one thing, how much will it complicate things that Jensen doesn't eat real food, doesn't get sick, barely needs to sleep, can't go out in the sun, and will never age and die? How long can Jared put off thinking about that? How long can you be involved with a bloodsucker before you have to face the fact that your best beloved survives by drinking blood and might bite you, and not in a happy-fun sexy kind of way?

“Shit,” he mumbles into the spray. Normally he'd talk to Chad, but this is something no one else can know. Jensen gave him his very own heavy secret to bear alone, and if Jared could dislike him for anything, it would be that.

Well, at least he can bring up the boyfriend stuff. He doesn't feel like a relationship with one of the undead is something he can just wing.

“Do you really think being boyfriends will be that much more complicated than just being friends?” Jensen asks, when they're both sitting in the RV's dinette and Jared suggests they talk about this new development.

“Yes?”

“I don't. At least I won't have to hide my relationship. But if you're not ready, you're not ready, that's fine, just tell me. We can go back to just being friends. No harm, no foul. I promise.”

“I don't think I can do that. I mean, I'll look at you and picture you naked. I'm not going to forget how you kissed me.”

“Normally people let you breathe, huh?” Jensen grins.

“Can you take this seriously?”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Jensen composes his face into seriousness. “I mean it, though. If you don't want that kind of relationship, that's fine. I won't kiss you again and we won't have sex any more, but I'll feel the same about you either way. That won't change, whether we're boyfriends or not.”

Jared sits back in his seat and thinks about that. It's true that he feels more emotionally close to Jensen than he has to anyone since his ex, and he felt that way long before Jensen kissed him. It's also true that if he thinks about it, really considers it, he can't go back to sitting next to Jensen on his couch, watching movies and eating popcorn, knowing that's as far as they'll ever go. The sex was amazing, but it was really just the last piece of a puzzle he didn't realize he was assembling. If Jensen hadn't kissed him, Jared would have eventually wanted to do it himself.

“I already said I don't think I can,” he repeats. “Go back to being just friends. I think part of me was just waiting for something to happen. Chad's been telling me you're hot for me for months.” Jensen snorts. “Shut up. That's just the way he is. My sister told me I should ask you out.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. I guess I talk about you a lot. It's not like I had a lot of other things going on. She was really glad I'd made a friend, and she thought maybe it was time I had a boyfriend too.”

“Maybe it is.”

Jared leans down and gently thunks his head on the dinette table. “But you're dead. Undead. Whatever.” He sits up. Jensen has a tiny smile on his face, affectionate and amused. “How does that work? What if you try to eat me?”

“Why would I suck your blood when I could suck your cock?” Jensen gives Jared an exaggerated leer.

“Stop it.”

Jensen gestures under the table at the little cooler. “I buy my blood. I don't eat people. Look. I was with Christian for thirty years. We made it work, in a time when we thought it was safer to hide, and he didn't even know what I was. We'll figure it out as we go.”

“But if we stay together, I'll grow old and die and you won't.”

“Jared. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“You probably have fifty years of being a goofball ahead of you. I really don't think we need to talk now about what's going to happen when you're eighty.”

“I'm trying to plan. I can't keep doing shit without thinking it through. Dating my ex was a spontaneous decision. Planning to move in with him was. Moving to Boston was. I don't want you to be, especially since these things don't turn out so well for me.”

“Well, I won't lead you on and then spring it on you that I've found someone else.”

Jared thunks his head on the table again. “What did I get myself into?”

Jensen pats him on the head. “Think of it as a great adventure. I'll even leave the bar with you once or twice. Next year we can go down to the Esplanade for the fireworks.” His fingers comb through Jared's hair. “Do you want to go back to being just friends, no sex?” His tone is earnest. Jared shakes his head against the table. Jensen chuckles. “I didn't think so. Nothing's really changed. My feelings for you aren't any different. We're not going to do anything different when we're together.”

“Aside from the fucking.”

Jensen chuckles again. “Aside from that.” He tugs on Jared's hair. “Come on. You had your run, you had your shower, I think the sun is almost down. I might even go out to say hi to the neighbors. You'll eat, we'll keep driving. We can talk about this on the road. Okay?”

Jared lifts his head. Jensen is serious and earnest and Jared trusts him, and he realizes part of this is new for Jensen too – he won't have to hide his boyfriend behind euphemism and deflection like he had to with Christian. And Jared knows what Jensen is, and the two of them can plan accordingly.

The blood still grosses him out, but he'll just have to learn to live with it. He's never gotten into a relationship expecting it to end, and if nothing else, he can trust that Jensen will never cheat on him and will never deliberately be a dick to him.

“Misha's going to be so pleased,” Jared says.

“I can just picture his smug face,” Jensen adds. “He won't be surprised. I know he was just trying to get me to make friends, but he'll be so excited it was more. He's one of those people who has such a great relationship with his wife that he's always trying to get other people to find their perfect partners.”

“You think I'm your perfect partner?”

“I don't know. Do you think I am?”

“Perfect for me? Right now, I guess. I mean, you're great in bed, you're a great kisser – especially since you haven't really kissed anyone in, what, a hundred and fifty years? - we're great friends, and I really needed a friend. When I met you I didn't know anyone. It's like god put you in my path because he knew I needed someone like you.”

“I think he prefers to be called 'Misha'.” Jensen grins and they both laugh.

“I really wasn't expecting this to happen,” Jared says. “You and me and - “ He waves towards the bed - “that. I just thought we'd be two friends on a road trip to Pepperland. I'm not sorry it happened. I can tell Chad we're a thing now. He'll say 'I told you so' and start giving me sex advice.”

“I'm excited to meet him.”

“You really need a warning about the sex advice. I love him like a brother and he's a really great guy but he's... he's Chad. You'll see.”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah, I think so. It's going to be weird. I've never dated a vampire before.”

“Neither have I. I promise not to bite you.”

“What if I ask?” Now it's Jared's turn to make an exaggerated sexy face and Jensen's turn to laugh. And Jared does feel better. He knows weird shit will come up and complications will happen, but he's also pretty sure that Jensen was right about one thing – in practical terms, aside from the kissing and the sex, nothing between them is going to change. He can think about the future when they get there.

Right now all he really needs to think about is how long it will take to drive to the next campground, and how much time he and Jensen have to kick back and relax at this one.

It turns out that he likes RV camping, because he likes the chance to meet other travelers. Not everyone wants to meet strangers on the road, but just talking to one or two makes Jared realize how closed off he'd become. The only real friends he's made in Boston are Jensen and Misha, and usually he's much more outgoing than that. But out here, on the road, people seem to be more willing to say hi. It helps that he rediscovers the chatty extrovert side of him that can talk to strange adults and coo at strange babies and pet strange dogs. And it helps that once the sun sets and Jensen feels safe leaving the darkness of the camper, he wants to channel his inner extrovert too.

At a campground in Oklahoma they meet Jim, who's driving around for the summer with his daughter Maddy, checking out kitschy tourist sites for her and sites of cinematic interest for him. Once Jensen learns that Jim teaches film theory, criticism, and appreciation at Rice University in Texas, and that he's written books about American cinema and TV westerns, there's no separating them. Maddy tries to feed them. Jensen politely declines, but Jared accepts a grilled turkey burger with mayo and homemade cranberry relish.

“I made it myself,” Maddy says, beaming, and even though it isn't the same as his grandmother's cranberry relish, Jared tells her it's very good.

On the other side of Jared and Jensen at that site are four Norwegian boys criss-crossing the country in a converted schoolbus so they can make a movie of their adventures. Only two of them have international driver's licenses, which hasn't stopped the other two from occasionally taking the wheel. Jared suggests they talk to Jim, and in exchange they teach him how to swear in Norwegian. Jensen, meanwhile, learns how to say “Call your mother” and “Stop snoring” in Romanian, from a middle-aged woman whose son has gotten them lost on the way to San Diego.

Jared is amused, but also takes the point. He calls home. His mother wants to know why he hasn't planned to stop in San Antonio to see his family. He apologizes and says they'll come by on the way back.

The one thing he would change about RV camping, in fact, is that he seems to spend most of the trip driving from campground to campground. The stops he planned are very far apart, and his itinerary hasn't left him and Jensen much time to relax at each campsite. They'll do it differently on the way home.

And in the meantime, they spend their nights driving and talking, listening to the audiobooks Jensen loaded onto his phone, arguing about music, and riding in comfortable silence. There are few other vehicles on the road so late at night, mostly trucks and eighteen-wheelers, and Jared feels as if he and Jensen are traveling in their own little bubble, the night sky shielding them from the rest of the world and giving their companionship an intimacy it didn't have in Jensen's apartment or at his bar. Jared realizes how little things have changed between them, despite the memory of Jensen's cock inside him, Jensen's mouth on his. He doesn't want to have sex again in the middle of a campsite, for the simple reason that it doesn't feel very private, so each time they stop to bed down and hide from the sunlight, they kiss for a little bit and then go to sleep.

This works until Texas. Texas is full of nothing, as Jensen remembered. Even the train that seems to run the whole length of the interstate does little to anchor them to the civilized world of trailers and gas stations and campsites with sewer hookups. Since the distance between the campground in Oklahoma and their next stop in Santa Fe is the shortest leg until they drive down to the pepper farm, they decide they can take a break. Jared turns south from Amarillo and then east until they seem to be in the middle of enough nothing to stop.

“Does it make you nostalgic?” he asks Jensen, cutting the engine and the lights so they're sitting in the dark and the quiet of northern Texas. They're too far from the interstate to hear the eighteen-wheelers or see the train's one brilliant headlight.

“Yes and no,” Jensen says. He leans against the dashboard to peer out the windshield. “We're not at risk of Comanche raids. There was something about Dallas I loved, but it was a very hard life compared to Boston. We thought we were going to civilize the west. We thought it belonged to us. It didn't.” He sits back and looks at Jared. Jared's vision is adjusting to the darkness but Jensen's face is in shadow. “But Boston did. We made it ours. Boston was the country's birthplace, but at the time Dallas was its future. And the future isn't yours yet. It isn't anyone's.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and heads back into the camper. Jared turns to watch as Jensen flips on the light over the bed. “Come here,” he says, sitting on the mattress. Jared goes.

Kissing is definitely better when you know it can lead to mad monkey sex and no one will hear your cries or see the camper rocking on its axles. Jared's tongue is down Jensen's throat and Jensen's hands are on Jared's ass and Jared wonders, briefly, what it would be like to fuck outside, under the wide open night sky and the million prairie stars, with no one around for miles and nothing to hear them.

All the curtains in the camper are open. Out of every window, he can see stars.

“Do you know what I want?” Jensen murmurs against his lips.

“For me to suck you off?” Jared answers. He can feel Jensen's amusement in his mouth.

“I'd like that. I want to fuck you under moonlight.” He flicks his tongue at Jared's lips and they kiss some more. “I want to turn you on your hands and knees and take you from behind, so we can both look out the window at the land and the stars.”

“You're such a romantic.” But this is exactly what he wanted too, the first time they had sex, for them to be able to open the curtains and see the stars, for them to be alone in the middle of nowhere so they could do what they wanted and not have to worry about drawing anyone's attention.

“Sometimes.” Jensen lifts his head and pulls at Jared's t-shirt. Jared sits and pulls it off, then flops down on his back and wriggles out of the rest of his clothes. There has to be a more dignified way to undress on this tiny bed. He's growing hard from all the kissing and he can tell Jensen is too, and as much as he loves Jensen's mouth, he loves Jensen's cock as well and can't wait to taste it.

He pulls Jensen to the edge of the bed, gets him out of his jeans, his underwear, kneels between his thighs and wraps eager fingers around his cock. Jensen lays a hand against his cheek. Jared ducks his head and goes to town.

The light is still on inside the camper, but Jared doesn't mind, because when he looks up, he can see Jensen watching him, smiling, lips parted so he can make noises of pleasure and tell Jared how good his mouth feels, how hot he is, how Jensen can't wait to fuck him.

Jared realizes he can do this until his jaw gets tired, because Jensen really wasn't lying about how long he can last. Jensen has other ideas, getting his hand under Jared's chin and pushing his head up until he's sitting on his knees and Jensen can lean down and kiss him.

“Now I'm going to fuck you,” Jensen murmurs against his lips. “Get up here.”

Jared's legs shake a little as he climbs onto the bed, as Jensen reaches over him to flip off the light and grab the lube, as they maneuver into position, as Jensen fingers his ass and grips his hip with one hand guides himself in with the other.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs. “Just as good as the first time.”

“So do you,” Jared says.

Jensen leans down and presses his lips to the back of Jared's neck, and then he sits back up and stars to move.

They rock in concert, Jared panting and Jensen grunting, both of them moaning with growing arousal, and if Jared concentrates he thinks he can feel the camper shaking beneath them. Jensen's hips are strong, his fingers digging into Jared's hips with enough pressure to leave bruises, and all Jared wants is for Jensen to fuck him harder, deeper, filling him and surrounding him and taking as much pleasure as he's giving. 

“Harder,” he pants. “Jesus, come on.”

Jensen obliges, pounding his ass with such force that Jared's hands slip on the mattress. He's so fucking hard, he wants Jensen to touch him. He wants Jensen to keep pounding into him. He wants to come, and he never wants to come, and he finally stops thinking about what he does and doesn't want and concentrates instead on the thrusting of Jensen's hips against his ass and the pressure of Jensen's fingers digging into his flesh and the slap of skin against skin and the grunts and moans coming from both their mouths.

“God, you're amazing,” Jensen murmurs. “I could do this all night. Just... bury myself inside you.” He leans forward, presses his lips to Jared's shoulderblade. “You're so warm and tight, you're – Christ, you're everything.”

Jared is slick with sweat and breathless with arousal and so hard, so very hard. He's going to come.

And then Jensen stops, wraps an arm around Jared's chest, and sits up and back, pulling Jared with him until Jared is resting on Jensen's thighs. He can barely see out the window now. He has to tilt his head to see the sky and the stars. He can feel Jensen's hips moving against his ass, thrusting shallowly. He tries to catch his breath, but Jensen turns his head and kisses him and he stops breathing.

It's awkward, even with Jensen's hand on his chin to keep his head steady. He's too conscious of Jensen's cock inside him, his own cock stiff and swollen, his skin hot, his thighs trembling with his need to come. He can't concentrate on anything else. He pulls Jensen's arm away, trying to guide his free hand. Jensen takes the hint. It only takes one touch before Jared arches his back and comes with a cry.

He sags against Jensen when he's done. He still can't catch his breath.

“How do you want to get me off?” Jensen whispers in his ear. “I can fuck you until sunrise if you want. I can fuck you until you get hard again, so I can make you come again.”

“Shit,” Jared pants, impressed and intrigued. “You've got a dirty mouth.”

“Surprised?”

“Kinda turned on.”

Jensen chuckles. “That was the goal. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to come.”

“I need more detail.”

Jared probably needs another few minutes before he can make his brain work again. “I want to watch you.”

So Jensen pushes him forward and pulls out. Jared stretches out on his back, lifts his legs, and beckons with a finger. Jensen guides himself inside again.

“Oh yeah,” he murmurs, starting to thrust. “Ohh... Jared... you're perfect....”

Jared squeezes Jensen's ass with both hands, encouraging him to thrust harder, deeper. They rock together, and even though Jared is empty and soft, he can't help but moan at the feel of Jensen pushing inside him.

And then Jensen is coming, straining against Jared and groaning with his release. He ducks his head and licks Jared's lips.

“How was it?” he asks. “Better than the first time?”

“Yeah.”

“Next time we'll fuck outside.” He's grinning but Jared can't take that suggestion seriously.

“Among the pepper fields?”

“Under the stars. We could wait until the full moon to see if either of us turns into a werewolf.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah.” Jensen drops another kiss on Jared's lips before pulling out and rolling off. “Let's go outside. Dressed.”

Jared's eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness that he can see Jensen climb off the bed and pull his clothes on. He's impressed that Jensen has the energy to do so, because all he wants is to lie there and recover. He can't imagine how they're going to do this on a regular basis, but maybe the more they fuck, the more he'll get used to it – no. No. He never wants to get used to it. He wants sex with Jensen to always be a surprise, to always excite him as much as it does now.

Jensen is looking at him, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Well?” he says. “Are you coming or not?”

“I thought I just did.” Jared grins.

“Now who's being a dork?” Jensen swats at his feet. “I'm going outside.” And he does.

Jared hauls himself to his feet, gets dressed, and follows. He leaves the camper door open, to air the place out, and leans against the side of the vehicle next to Jensen.

“I remember it like this,” Jensen says quietly. “Away from the city, closer to the fields. The land was quiet and scrubby and full of grass and little scuttling creatures. Dallas wasn't even that big, but once you left it there was nothing. Sometimes you could see a light in a distant farmhouse, but you could easily imagine there was nothing out there but wild animals and Comanche.”

“I thought there wasn't anything out there but wild animals and Comanche.”

“There were Rangers and settlers. During the Civil War there could be soldiers. But there was so much land, and so few people, we thought there was room for everyone. Well, everyone except the natives, we didn't want them around. There's a lot of history we should be ashamed of.”

Jared doesn't say anything. He was raised on Texan exceptionalism, on stories of the Texas Rangers and the Alamo and the civilizing of the west. He knows not everything the growing country did was good, and not everyone was treated equally and well. He knows about the dark periods. But he also knows that he's proud of where he came from, and he's proud of the people who raised him, and right now he wants to agree with Jensen, because Jensen is telling the truth, but at the same time he doesn't want to talk about what his ancestors did wrong.

He takes Jensen's hand and listens to the night. It's very quiet. They can't even hear any wildlife, insectoid or avian or mammal. There's barely any wind to rustle the grass. Jared realizes he's waiting for Jensen to say something else, to confess to more.

“It's beautiful out here,” Jensen goes on, eventually. “Sometimes I miss it.”

“Would you go back?”

“No. The Texas I knew is gone. It's been buried by its own progress.”

“You said Boston was too, when you went back.”

“It was. But it was still home. They'd filled in the bay and built streets and brownstones on the rubble, but there was still enough that I knew. I could make myself fit back in.” He squeezes Jared's hand. “And now I have Abigail's. And Misha, and you.” He turns to look Jared in the face. Jared kisses him.

It's a short kiss, comparatively. Jared rests his forehead against Jensen's. He still can't believe this is his life – driving across the country in a camper, going to visit a pepper farmer because she's trying to breed the hottest peppers in the world, because his brand-new boyfriend is a vampire and can only taste things if they're hot enough to send lesser mortals to the hospital. He wouldn't change it for anything.

“Can you hear that?” Jensen murmurs.

“Hear what?”

“It sounds like horses.”

Jared concentrates. He can't hear anything besides his own heartbeat. Maybe vampires just have better hearing than normal people. He closes his eyes, and then he hears it. It sounds like a distant herd running across the prairie. He knows he and Jensen stopped near a canyon, but he didn't think they'd passed any ranches, and he thought all the wild herds were gone from Texas.

“Is there a ranch near here?” he asks.

“Shh,” Jensen whispers. “Listen.”

Jared turns away from him just enough to watch the landscape, waiting for the herd to appear on the horizon, and he's stunned when it does – it looks like hundreds of horses, the light from the moon and stars enough to illuminate their multicolored hides, patterned like the wild ponies the Comanche rode in the illustrations in his history textbooks, like every painting he's ever seen of the wild west before white settlers drove the natives away.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Where did they come from?”

Because they're still coming, thundering across the grass like a history lesson come to life. But the ground should be shaking with the force of their run, and it's still firm and flat under Jared's feet. As the horses get closer, he realizes he can almost see through them, but that could be a trick of the moonlight, the effect of Jensen's history and so much empty landscape on his sex-addled brain.

He can feel the ponies' joy as they pass, their delight in the freedom to race as they please. They come close enough that he could feel the rush of wind from their transit if there was any wind to feel. Their manes and tails stream behind them, their heads lean forward, necks straining with the pleasure of their run, every muscle working, hooves pounding the dirt and grass. It's as if he and Jensen are caught in the best surroundsound that ever was, the most immersive movie experience that has yet to be invented – they can hear the horses thundering past them, can see them in perfect detail, but they're still like horses on a screen, all sound and vision but nothing to touch.

And then they're gone. Jared's heart is pounding in his chest. He remembers to breathe again. No one is ever going to believe that he just saw a herd of ghost ponies racing across North Nothing, Texas.

“What was that?” he asks.

“The ghost horses,” Jensen says. He sounds almost reverent. “I remember hearing about them when I was still in Dallas. They were Comanche ponies that the army had captured, and soldiers killed them all to keep the Comanche from taking them back.”

“They looked happy.”

“Of course they did. They're free.” Jensen takes Jared's hand and they just stand there for a while, thinking their own thoughts, watching the now-empty prairie.

Eventually Jared lets go of Jensen's hand to climb back in the camper. They still have a ways to go, and he doesn't know how long it is before sunrise.

They take their seats in silence, head back to the highway, continue on to Santa Fe. After about an hour Jensen turns the radio on, but there are no good stations out here so he turns it back off.

“I have a secret,” he says.

“Yeah?” Jared says. “What?”

“I never punched Alexander Hamilton in the face. I was involved in a bar brawl and I did punch someone, but it wasn't him. It was just some kid who happened to get in the way of my fist.”

Jared isn't as disappointed as he would have expected. It doesn't change the fact that Jensen was walking around Boston the same time as the Founding Fathers, and that he _could_ have gotten into a bar brawl with Alexander Hamilton before Hamilton was famous and Jensen was undead.

“Did you know Betsy Ross?” Jared asks.

“Did I what?”

“Did you know Betsy Ross.”

“No. I did not know Betsy Ross. Why did you think I did?”

Jared shrugs. “Just because you lied to me about Hamilton doesn't mean you didn't know anyone famous. I can tell people I saw ghost horses, right?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I can't tell anyone about you. I mean I can't tell anyone you're a vampire.”

“That's because I don't want anyone hunting me down. I don't think the horses will care if curious travelers drive out to see them.”

“I can't believe that happened.”

“I guess we're charmed.”

Jared can't argue with that.

 

They drive up to the pepper farm the next night, Jensen having called ahead to let Alona the pepper farmer know they're coming. They park in the visitor's lot, next to the tiny farm store, where she's waiting for them with two other women who turn out to be friends from Albuquerque – Genevieve, who owns an arts and crafts gallery, and Gal, who works as a personal chef with a side business making spice blends. Gal has a friend from culinary school who now lives in Boston, but neither Jared nor Jensen has ever heard of him or the restaurant where he cooks.

“It's a big city,” Gal says, unconcerned.

“Sometimes it feels like a very small town,” Jensen tells her, causing Jared to elbow him in the side. “What?”

“That's because you never leave the house,” Jared says.

“Do you want to meet the peppers?” Alona asks. “They're still not as hot as I want, but you can taste one if you're careful.”

The five of them head away from the store and the parking lot, through a fence, and into the pepper fields, rows and rows of leafy plants starting to produce red and green fruit.

“Don't touch them,” Gal warns. “I burned my nose.”

“I told you to wear gloves,” Alona counters. “She was handling the glories and had to scratch her nose. Terrible idea. You'd think she'd know.” She grins at Gal, who rolls her eyes. Jared guesses this is a conversation they have a lot.

“Which ones are the glories?” Jensen asks.

“The Socorro glory, my first attempt to breed a fire-breather. They're close to the hottest habaneros, chocolates or red savinas, about 450 or 500,000 SHUs. They hurt, but they shouldn't land you in the hospital. The Socorro devil should be upwards of 2.3 or 2.4 million. Those are the ones you came to see.”

“She's so preoccupied with whether or not she can,” Genevieve comments, “that she hasn't stopped to think about whether or not she should.”

“Thank you, Dr Malcolm,” Alona says drily. “When the devils get loose and start eating people, then you can say 'I told you so'.”

She leads them down an aisle between plants until they reach a shed. It contains miscellaneous farming tools Jared can't identify, racks of lights, and stacks and stacks of green plastic containers that Alona explains are for germinating her peppers before they're ready to be planted in the ground. There is also a long metal table on which she seems to have laid out a snack – covered plates that, once uncovered, reveal roasted green chile peppers rolled around pieces of white cheese, balls of another kind of cheese, rounds of baguette, a container of some kind of spread, and slices of red pepper. There's also a large thermos and a short stack of little plastic cups. There are no chairs, so everyone has to stand.

“The green peppers with the cheese are Hatch chiles,” Alona says. “They're sandias, so they're hot, but it's a hot that people can handle. New Mexico is great for growing chile peppers. The symmetrical slices are the Socorro glories, and the ugly ones are the devils. I tried to take out all the ribs and seeds, but please be careful. They're still not as hot as I want, but there's a reason I cut them thin. The spread is Gal's experiment – mild cheese spread perked up with bits of Socorro glory.”

“'Perked up' is a shorter way of saying 'Hot enough to impress your friends but not hot enough to kill you',” Genevieve says.

Jared notes that there are only four slices of Socorro devil.

Alona passes around plastic forks and they all start off with the chiles with cheese, except for Jensen who goes straight to a piece of the hottest pepper on offer. He pops it in his mouth, chews, swallows, and only then realizes that the women are staring at him in astonishment.

“That was good,” he says conversationally.

“You're not catching fire,” Genevieve says.

The thermos contains milk, as Jared discovers when Alona hurriedly fills one of the little cups and hands it to Jensen. “Are you okay? I warned you.”

“I'm good,” he says. He licks his lips. “It's almost as hot as the reaper.”

Jared can hear the laughter behind Jensen's voice and knows that his boyfriend (and it's still weird to think of him that way) is enjoying freaking out the pepper farmer and her friends.

“Stop that,” he hisses.

“What?” Jensen asks, looking innocent. “I have a very high heat tolerance,” he explains to Alona, as if that alone will reassure her that he isn't about to expire from hybrid hot pepper.

Gal has draped one of the slices of Socorro glory over a cheese ball and bites into it. “The cheese mitigates it some,” she tells Alona, “but the burn is very good.” She pours herself some milk as well.

Jensen takes a cheese ball and does the same with another slice of Socorro devil. He eats this one more slowly. Jared tries one of the pieces of Socorro glory, which does indeed burn, but in a way he recognizes and can enjoy. He's not sure he's brave enough to try one of Alona's hybrid superhots.

“You told me you're growing reapers in your kitchen?” Alona asks Jensen. He nods and swallows. “How is that working?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he says. “I don't get a lot of fruit. Am I doing something wrong? The pot's big enough, I have grow lights, in the dead of winter I use a heating pad, I think I'm watering them enough, but I never get many.”

“You might need to water them more. You get hotter peppers if you water less, but you also get fewer and smaller peppers. How big is the container? Do you fertilize?”

“Five gallons, and I use compost.”

“Organic, I assume.”

“I own a bar. My compost is made from kitchen scraps. Lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, lemon and lime rinds, potato peels, coffee grounds, that kind of thing.”

“Isn't fertilizing peppers with peppers cannibalism?” Genevieve asks, but Alona isn't paying attention.

“Hm.” She spreads a round of baguette with some of Gal's cheese spread. “Have you tried Epsom salts?”

“Why?” Jensen asks.

“For the magnesium. Your fertilizer should be lower in nitrogen. Try the Epsom salts and maybe water your plants a little bit more and see what happens. How long have you been growing them?”

“About two years.” He pokes two slices of Socorro glory onto his fork and pops them in his mouth.

“I've never met anyone who could eat those plain,” Genevieve says. Jared notes that she's been sticking to the green-chiles-and-cheese and the spread on bread. He himself has eaten a couple of the glories on cheese balls and with the spread, and thinks he might be ready to brave a devil. There's only one left, which makes him wonder if Jensen ate a third while no one was looking.

“There's one piece of devil left,” Gal says, as if reading his mind. She uses her fork to delicately cover a cheese ball with it and nudge it in Jared's direction. “Your friend is going to need some company in the toilet later.”

“I forgot to mention that,” Alona says. “You might feel some, um, discomfort. I want to apologize in advance, but I did warn you, and you did come to me.”

Jared spears the cheese ball with his fork and takes a very small bite of pepper. His tongue tingles. He takes another slightly bigger bite, and now his lips tingle as well. A third bite, with the rest of the cheese, and despite the mitigating factor of a ball of solid dairy, the pepper is so hot he can't taste anything else. His throat burns as he swallows. He can feel his eyes watering.

“Shit,” he chokes out, swallowing another ball of cheese almost without chewing. A little cup full of milk appears in front of him and he downs it like a shot.

“Are you okay?” Alona asks cautiously.

“The cheese spread was good,” he manages. He feels as if he needs to be complimentary about something. Gal looks pleased.

“At least you didn't eat it all at once like your crazy friend here,” Genevieve says.

“Have some more milk,” Alona says. Jared does. He'll be fine. Eventually.

“Tell them where the name came from,” Gal says to Alona. “It's a good story,” she tells Jared and Jensen.

“It's a local legend,” Alona says. “About a hundred and forty, hundred and fifty years ago, there was a silver mine not too far away. Of course there was also a little town. One day one of the men in the town disappeared. A search party went out, but when they failed to find him, the townspeople gave him up for dead. But his best friend refused to believe it, and went off to look by himself. He was gone for months and months, and when he finally returned to town, with the missing man in tow, he said the devil had stolen him away.”

“The Socorro Devil,” Gal adds in an ominous voice, spoiling the effect somewhat by giggling.

Soon the rest of the snacks have been eaten and Gal announces that she should go home. The five of them walk back through the pepper plants to the visitor parking lot. Gal drives off. Genevieve, it seems, is staying the night.

“None of the current crop is ready,” Alona tells Jensen, almost apologetically, “so I can't send you home with any peppers.”

“So what did we just eat?” Jared asks.

“Test peppers. I have a greenhouse for the green chiles out of season, so I've been growing some of the superhots there.” She slaps her forehead. “I'm an idiot. You can take a couple of devils from the greenhouse, on the condition that you don't plant the seeds. I know I can get them hotter, and when I do, I'll send you some seeds.”

“Thank you,” Jensen says. In the light of the parking lot he looks surprised and touched. “I brought you something too.” He holds out his hand towards Jared. Jared looks at it. “Keys.”

Jared unlocks the camper. Jensen vanishes inside for a minute, returning with a bottle of what Jared knows is his reaper-infused vodka. He hands it to Alona, who looks at it dubiously.

“Reaper vodka,” he says, beaming. “I said I owned a bar, didn't I?”

“Do you sell this to customers?” she asks.

“Sometimes. It goes fast. People want to try it. Sometimes they even try it twice.”

“Thank you. Wait here and I'll get you a pepper.” She walks off, leaving Jared and Jensen standing next to the camper, feeling a little abandoned.

“That was fun,” Jensen says. “I'm glad we came.”

“You scared her when you stuck that whole slice of pepper in your mouth,” Jared says. “You ate three of them, didn't you.”

“When she comes back, should I eat a whole one?” He grins.

“I think you'll give her a heart attack. Wait until we're alone.” He holds up his hand. “But don't kiss me after.”

“That's not what I was thinking.” Jensen grins wider. Jared lets his mind run away with ideas and has just hit on what is probably a very painful one when Alona returns with a small plastic container.

“Two Socorro devils,” she says proudly, handing Jensen the container. “Not as hot as the reaper, but getting there. Please be careful with them.”

“I know, use gloves, have milk.”

“Yes. Thank you for coming. No one has ever come out to see me in the off-season, just to talk about my superhots. If you have any more questions about growing reapers, email me. If the devils hit 2.4 million, I promise to send you one. Where are you going next?”

“Tucson,” Jared says.

“That's a long drive.”

“I think we'll be okay.” He's definitely awake now, that's for sure. If nothing else, his experience with the Socorro devil woke him right up. 

“Thanks again,” Jensen says. “It was really fun.”

“Come back any time.” Alona waves goodnight and heads in the direction of what Jared assumes is her house. He and Jensen get back in the van, and there they are again – the strings of ghostly peppers that Jared first saw in Jensen's kitchen, now hanging across the opening to the cubby over the front seats. They fade away to nothing as he stares.

He nudges Jensen. “Did you just see a string of chile peppers?” he asks, almost whispering.

“No.” Jensen looks at him curiously. “Are you hallucinating peppers?”

“I don't know. I saw them before, in your kitchen, that night I got so hammered you had to bring me upstairs. Well, the day after. I thought I was just hungover.”

Jensen pats his arm. “Maybe they're the ghosts of Alona's failed superhots,” he says. Jared wouldn't have thought that was even possible, but maybe that's his life now – ghosts of things that were never alive, and a bloodsucker explaining their existence.

They pull out of the parking lot and turn towards Tucson. Jared doesn't know how far they can get before the sun starts to rise, but he's pretty sure they can get close.

Jensen eats one of the peppers Alona gave him. Jared watches out of the corner of his eye, curious if vampires are affected by terrifically hot chile peppers the way humans are. From Jensen's lack of reaction, he'd have to say they aren't.

“I was thinking,” Jensen says, as they reach the highway.

“I thought I smelled smoke.”

“Jerk. You don't have any freelance work lined up yet, do you?”

“No.”

“What do you think about working part-time in a bar, to help make ends meet?”

“You mean for you?” Jared risks a glance away from the road to see Jensen's face. He's smiling a little.

“Yeah. I mean for me. So I can open earlier, during daylight hours.”

“Are you sure you're ready to do that? You might have to leave your cave like a normal person.”

“Funny man. I think it's time I start acting more like a normal person. First thing is to keep Abigail's open like a normal bar. And if I can't be there when the sun's out, I'll just hire someone who can.”

But Jared actually likes the fact that the posted hours are “Sunset to sunrise” in all seasons. It gives the bar character.

“I've never bartended before,” is what he says.

“I'll train you. You don't have to answer me now. But think about it.”

Jared thinks about it until they find a campground a little over an hour from Tuscon. It's the middle of the night and he can't show up on Chad's doorstep at this hour. Besides, he and Jensen probably need some time to talk things out.

Well, when Jensen's mouth is free, anyway.

“Ohh fuck,” Jared breathes, his cock stinging as Jensen's chile-pepper-stained lips and tongue surround it. Jensen sucks harder. Jared bites his lip. The remains of hot pepper oils in Jensen's mouth make Jared's skin tingle in a way both painful and arousing. He can't imagine what it would feel like if Jensen were to go down on him immediately after eating one of those hot, hot peppers.

Jensen pauses, lifting his head as if he's about to say something. Jared pushes his head back down. Jensen obligingly finishes. Once Jared catches his breath, he returns the favor.

“I can't wait to fuck you in an actual bed,” he says, after they've both rearranged themselves on the camper's barely-big-enough bed. “On an actual mattress.”

“Who says you're going to do the fucking?” Jensen asks, chuckling.

“You know you want it.”

“Yeah, I do.” Jensen kisses him. “You're very smart.” Jared just kisses back.

If it wasn't for the vague sense of confinement that the camper is starting to give him, Jared could get used to this – him and Jensen stretched out as much as they can be, casually kissing, occasionally touching, with nowhere to be and nothing to do until the sun has risen and set again. He knows in the back of his head that they'll have to go back to Boston soon, and once there he'll have to start over with new work and a new boyfriend and in some ways a new life, but for now, he can lie here and make out with that very boyfriend and not have to think about very much.

“So what do you think?” Jensen asks, interrupting his non-thoughts.

“About what?”

“Working behind the bar. At Abigail's.”

“Ask me in a week.”

“When we get back?”

“When we get back.”

Jensen rolls over and stretches. Jared smacks his ass.

“ _Fet rumpe_ ,” he says appreciatively.

“What does that mean?” Jensen says.

“Those Norwegian guys told me it literally means 'fat ass', but you say it about a nice-looking ass, not necessarily a fat one.”

“You think I have a nice ass?” Jensen twists around, trying to see his own butt.

“Eh. It's okay.” He yawns. Jensen pats him on the head.

“You're cute. Go to sleep.”

Jared doesn't think he's that tired, but not ten minutes later Jensen is shaking him and telling him “ _Opriţi sforaiti_.”

“Huh?” he mumbles. He didn't even realized he'd fallen asleep.

“Stop snoring.”

“I wasn't snoring.”

“Of course not.”

Jared produces an exaggeratedly loud snore. Jensen snickers and kisses his forehead.

“I'll do it,” he says. He probably hasn't thought this through, despite all his attempts to stop rushing into things, but for once he doesn't think that will be a problem.

“Do what?”

“Tend your bar part-time. I'll need the money.”

“Good. We can talk about the details later. Go back to sleep.”

Jared is happy to oblige. They'll lie next to each other in the dark camper, an hour or so from Tuscon, and they'll sleep, and they'll dream, and tomorrow Jared will drive them to Chad's and the end of their vacation.

And in a week, when they're back home, things will be different, and better.

* * *

The bar is still called Abigail's, but the hours, as posted, are now merely “Open at 4”. It's still dim and quiet, it still closes at two despite the lack of posted closing hours, and even though Jared doesn't really need a beer, he wants to see Jensen, so he goes in.

There's something country-rock flavored that he doesn't recognize playing on the stereo. It's the middle of October, pumpkin beer season. The regular hours have apparently gotten the bar a few regular drinkers, and a couple of them are currently sitting at a booth with cocktails and a plate of hummus and pita chips. Jensen is leaning on the bar, doing a crossword. He looks up as Jared sits on a stool and slides down the counter.

“You're just in time,” he says. “'Red sticks, abbreviation.' Three letters, second letter's N. Or 'indeterminate power,' three letters, nothing yet.” He looks expectant. Jared turns the newspaper so he can see the puzzle.

“TNT,” he says. “'Ann-blank' is 'Margret' and you should know that.”

“You're right, I should.” Jensen spins the paper back around and scribbles answers. “You want something?”

“Nah. I just came to say hi. So, hi.” He grins. Jensen grins back. Jared wishes the bar counter wasn't so deep, so he could lean over and kiss his boyfriend on the mouth. Well, it's not as if he'll never get another chance. “What's the music?”

“They're called Oklahoma Ford, out of Nashville. You sure you don't want a beer?”

“Are you trying to get rid of something?”

Jensen grabs a glass and fills it halfway from a tap marked “Copper Legend”. He hands it over the counter. “Vicky tried this yesterday and now she won't shut up about it.” He shakes his head. “She's turning into Misha. It's tragic.”

Jared considers the beer in the glass. They just got the Copper Legend a few days ago and he hasn't tasted it yet. He doesn't even know that much about it. “What kind of beer is it?”

“Malty, apparently. Just try it so I can tell her you did.”

Jared hasn't seen Vicky in a couple of weeks, although he just talked to Misha two days ago. Misha's charity is finally off and running. Jared puts in volunteer hours as needed, and it turns out that he really likes it. He likes freelancing too. He misses having a reliable paycheck and being able to easily budget from month to month, but he thinks he's learning more this way, and if it always feels as if he's coming into a contract job in the middle, and always has to catch himself up, at least he's getting good at trusting his gut when it comes to on-the-spot decisions.

And he's working at the bar in his in-between hours, although usually only once or twice a week now. Learning the ropes wasn't difficult, but the thing he likes best is getting to talk to strangers and getting to know the regulars. Sometimes he still can't believe how isolated he was his first few months in Boston, how few people he knew until he met Jensen, and how hard it was to make friends. Not that he has so many more friends now, but he's certainly talked to a lot more people.

It still makes him smile to think that he's part of the reason Jensen can open his bar during daylight hours. It makes him smile to think he's the reason Jensen even thought to do it in the first place. He sips the Copper Legend, which is pretty good. Much better than the Kiwi Rising, their other Jack's Abby seasonal, which is intensely hoppy and not his thing.

He and Jensen finish the crossword while he finishes the beer. Three people come in together, sit at a front booth, and confer before one of them comes up to the bar and orders three Sam Adams Oktoberfests, a plate of chili fries, and an order of hummus and chips. The chili fries were Jared's idea, after he managed to wheedle the chili recipe out of his roommate.

“So you're here tomorrow night,” Jensen says conversationally.

“I'm here tomorrow night.” Jared can't help but grin. They have this exchange a lot. It's part of the routine now.

“I'll put out your toothbrush and hide the blood.”

“I'll try not to snore.”

He'll be so tired after his shift that all he's going to want to do is sleep, but after he wakes up, sometime the following afternoon, he and Jensen might mess up the sheets before he gets started on his current IT project. Jensen came to Jared's house once, when Jared's roommate was out of town and Danneel was tending bar, but it's much easier for Jared to come to him. For one thing, Jared won't burst into flame if he's coming and going when the sun is out.

It still amazes him sometimes that he's making a relationship work with a man who has to drink blood to survive, who can't go outside during the day, who can only taste the hottest of chile peppers and the most terrifying of kimchis and the most incendiary of hot sauces. Jared has never told anyone Jensen's secret. He tells people other things – how Jensen can't drive so Jared took them to New Mexico and back in a camper, how he's testing other liquors besides vodka to infuse with the Carolina reapers he's growing in his kitchen, how he loves his bar and hates the traffic noise and has no opinion on the occasional tourist, how he treats his tenants and how they treat their rentals, how he never uses the crossword puzzle dictionary Jared bought him, how he's a walking repository of obscure historical Boston trivia, how the two of them have a standing date night every Tuesday, when Danneel watches the bar and Jared brings his own dinner and he and Jensen sit on Jensen's couch and eat popcorn and watch movies. They're working their way through various “best of” and “100 movies you need to see before you die” lists. Jensen is keeping track.

Jensen still doesn't talk about his past much unless prompted. Jared feels as if he himself is an open book, and it's only fair that Jensen is too, but he's adapting to the fact that as comfortable as Jensen is with him, and as willing as Jensen is to talk about most things, there's always going to be something he's going to want to keep to himself.

“You're good for each other,” Misha told Jared at his Labor Day barbecue. “You get him out of the house and he makes you happy.”

“I hope I make him happy too,” Jared said.

“You can't tell?”

And later that night, after Jared went over to Abigail's, Jensen said of course Jared made him happy, did he think it was a secret?

“I've been saying that for months,” Chad complained, when Jared repeated what Misha had said. “I could tell even before you two started fucking, when you thought you were still just friends.”

“You're very perceptive,” Jared said.

“I am.” Jared could hear Chad preening over the phone.

Now Chad just wants to know if they're still in the honeymoon phase and is the sex still good. Jared has given up trying to deflect and instead treats Chad to as many sticky details as he can before Chad cackles with glee and says he needs to remember all that for the next time he gets laid, and he's glad Jared found someone worthy of his dorky sense of humor and sincere enthusiasm.

Chad's a good friend, for all that. Jared feels lucky to have him.

Not as lucky as he feels to have found Jensen, but Chad won't wear him out in the same way, and he has no desire to learn what Chad tastes like.

“Hang out a little longer,” Jensen says now, taking Jared's empty glass and folding up the paper. “It's been quiet.”

The two people who were there when Jared walked in get up, put on their jackets, pay for their cocktails and hummus, and leave. Jared could eat, so Jensen makes him a burger and pours him a Coke, and they chat for a while until Jared finishes his food, the three people with the Sam Adams order some dinner, and the sun sets into the river behind the buildings across the street.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Jared says, putting some cash on the bar to cover his burger.

“I'll be here.”

Jared collects his stuff and walks down to the far end of the bar, where the counter flips up so the bartender can walk around the place. Jensen comes out from behind the counter to kiss him goodnight – first glancing around to make sure no one is watching – and Jared goes home.

He starts whistling on the way to the T station. He's full of burger and soda, he's gotten to hang out with his boyfriend for a while, he's doing work that interests him, and he doesn't even mind that his current assignment is ending in a week and a half and he'll have to find something else. Misha has been a great help in that regard.

It's dark out and getting cold, and Jared's life is so much better than it was ten months ago, all because of the night he walked into a bar on a whim, and met – and then fell in love with – the good-looking undead bartender.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks:  
> dear_tiger as always for the squee and the cheerleading and the very thoughtful beta comments. Also the ghostly peppers. And the pepper farmer.  
> cassiopeia7 for her super cute art. [Check it out!](https://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/622439.html) It's good stuff.  
> @ursulav for info about how to grow Carolina reapers in the kitchen  
> @lasrina for asking her about them for me  
> chemm80 for details about the landscape and night highways of western Texas and eastern New Mexico, and some pics of same  
> eve_n_furter for the Norwegian  
> belleweather for the Romanian  
> Katie from my writing group for first mentioning Dogtown and its spooky history  
> wendy for running this challenge for another year, and for being the best of all possible Wendys  
> and the odd confluence of _Esquire_ magazine, tumblr, and _Only Lovers Left Alive_ , which somehow combined to give me the idea 
> 
> of course there's a fun and ridiculous author's note [here](https://tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com/1919666.html)


End file.
